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The  Case  of  Sir  Edward  Talbot 


THE  CASE  OF 
SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 


BY 

VALENTINE  GOLDIE 

Author  of  "The  Happy  Garret,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 

681  Fifth  Avenue 


Copyright,  1922, 
BY  E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


FEINTED    IN    THE    UNITED     STATES    OT    AMEEIOA 


The  Case  of  Sir  Edward  Talbot 


CHAPTER  I 

SEATED  apart  and  unnoticed  in  the  embrasure 
of  a  window,  the  girl  surveyed  with  a  serene 
expression  of  contentment  the  shouting  assembly  that 
crowded  the  long  drawing-room  from  end  to  end.  At 
the  new  arrival  within  the  range  of  her  vision  of  any 
woman,  her  grave  eyes  studied  dispassionately  and 
quickly  every  detail  of  her  dress,  subsequently  return- 
ing to  the  contemplation  of  a  man  who  formed  the 
centre  of  a  group  almost  immediately  in  front  of  her. 
Admiration  of  his  physical  qualities  could  hardly 
have  been  the  cause  of  this  recurrent  attention,  for 
he  was  a  smallish,  quiet-looking  person,  by  no  means 
in  his  first  youth.  Possibly  a  sense  of  sympathy 
drew  her  to  him ;  for,  except  for  herself,  he  was  the 
only  guest  in  sight  who  had  entirely  preserved 
mental  and  physical  coolness.  His  associates  di- 
rected most  of  their  remarks  to  him,  with  vehement 
cries  and  gestures;  and  he  replied  softly,  seriously 
and  with  unvarying  deliberation.  The  smooth,  hair- 
less face  was  one  of  the  calmest  imaginable ;  the  lips 
gently  smiling,  the  pale,  luminous  eyes  alive  with  a 

polite  receptiveness,  the  whole  expression  admirably 

1 


2129959 


2  THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

balanced  and  tolerant.  From  the  demeanour  of  tiis 
satellites  one  would  have  guessed  him  to  be  some- 
thing of  a  notoriety,  and  the  conjecture  would  have 
been  supported  by  the  fact  that  he  had  a  rather  re- 
markable skull.  Its  size  was  not  the  result  of  any 
local  exaggeration ;  it  was  big  and  solid  in  every  part, 
with  a  slightly  convex  forehead ;  a  head  which  must 
have  inspired  the  highest  admiration  and  respect  for 
its  owner  in  any  phrenologist.  The  pale  chestnut  hair 
was  cut  as  short  as  was  consistent  with  admitting  a 
parting,  and  brushed  smoothly.  The  ears  were  oddly, 
even  rather  unpleasantly  small,  with  a  perfectly 
straight  upper  edge.  Had  not  the  malfoimation  oc- 
curred in  both,  it  might  have  been  taken  to  be  due 
to  an  accident  instead  of  to  a  congenital  defect.  The 
jaw  was  firm,  but  not  prominent,  the  skin  fair  and 
the  mouth  well  cut.  There  was  nothing  beautiful 
nor  even  remarkable  in  the  face,  beyond  its  tran- 
quillity. His  general  aspect  was  that  of  a  man  some- 
where between  forty  and  forty-five  years  of  age. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  look  at  a  person  in  one's 
immediate  neighbourhood  for  many  seconds  without 
attracting  his  notice,  and  very  shortly  the 
glances  of  the  girl  and  the  object  of  her  scrutiny 
met.  Immediately  she  allowed  her  eyes  to  travel 
slowly  and  composedly  past  him;  but  his  remained 
fixed,  and  when,  after  a  while,  she  casually  looked 
back   in   his  direction  he  was   still   watching  her. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT         3 

There  was  nothing  impudent  or  challenging  in  his 
stare,  which  spoke  only  of  an  awakened  interest; 
nevertheless  it  was  sufficiently  pronounced  to  cause 
one  or  two  of  his  friends  to  follow  its  direction.  The 
girl  slightly  turned  her  head  away  and  began  to  in- 
terest herself  in  some  newly  arrived  visitors;  and 
while  she  was  so  engaged  the  man  left  his  compan- 
ions and  sauntered  down  the  room,  to  return  a  few 
minutes  later  in  the  wake  of  a  portly,  grey-haired 
lady,  picturesquely  dressed  in  a  loose  robe  of  lace. 

"Little  Shirley!"  cried  the  elderly  woman  in  a  full 
rich  voice  which  accorded  with  her  dignified  corpu- 
lence. "Sitting  all  alone  and  neglected !  How  very 
pathetic!  I'd  no  idea  you'd  come,  even.  Couldn't 
you  find  me  ?" 

"I  did  speak  to  you  when  I  arrived;  and  really 
Tre  been  quite  happy  sitting  here  watching  the 
people." 

"My  dear,  I  haven't  the  faintest  recollection  of 
seeing  you  before,  this  evening.  But  there's  such 
a  crowd,  isn't  there  ?  One's  head  quite  spins.  Do 
let  me  introduce  Sir  Edward  Talbot  to  you ;  such 
an  interesting  man — but  of  course  you've  heard  all 
about  him.  He's  most  anxious  to  know  you.  Sir 
Edward,  come  here !  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  my 
friend.  Miss  Cresswell;  and  perhaps  presently  you'll 
take  her  and  give  her  an  ice  or  something.  .  .  .  How 
sweet  of  you  to  come,  dear  Clara !     I  was  so  afraid 


4         THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

that  you  might  be  too  tired,  after  the  theatre.  Isi- 
dore has  been  asking  anxiously  after  you.  Will  you 
come  with  me  and  find  him  ?" 

She  moved  off  majestically,  and  Sir  Edward  Tal- 
bot, after  bowing  with  affable  dignity,  took  a  seat 
beside  Shirley  on  the  little  sofa. 

"I  hope  you'll  forgive  me  for  forcing  my  company 
on  you,"  he  began  in  a  pleasant,  if  rather  expression- 
less, voice.  "But  you  looked  so  cool  and  restful,  and 
I  soon  get  weary  of  strenuous  warmth." 

"There's  been  nothing  to  break  my  rest  yet,"  she 
explained,  smiling.  "I  haven't  seen  anyone  here  I 
know,  so  far,  except  Mrs.  Cassilis." 

"And  she  hasn't  been  looking  after  you  properly  ? 
However,  you  appeared  remarkably  contented.  I 
hesitated  about  disturbing  you." 

His  manner  clearly  shewed  that  the  approach  of 
middle  age  had  not  robbed  him  of  the  pleasure  to 
be  derived  from  the  society  of  an  attractive  woman. 

"Oh,  no!  I'm  glad  to  talk,  though  up  to  now 
I've  been  enjoying  the  clothes.  That's  my  business 
in  life,  you  see.     I  design  dresses." 

"Mrs.  Cassilis  was  telling  me.  For  Delbruck  of 
South  Molton  Street,  isn't  it  ?  I  offer  you  my  com- 
pliments. Several  of  the  friends  of  whose  company 
I  feel  proudest  get  their  things  there.  Shew  me  some 
of  your  achievements  here  to-night." 

"There's  Mrs.  Cassilis  herself." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT         5 

"Really  ?  That's  quite  a  triumph.  She  looks  de- 
lightful, and  I  know  that  she  has  the  most  inno- 
cently baroque  taste.  If  she  was  left  to  hei-self  she 
would  probably  make  herself  as  flamboyant  and  angry 
in  appearance  as  she  has  allowed  this  room  of  hers  to 
become.  It  must  need  great  tact  and  courage  to  deal 
with  her  in  matters  of  adornment." 

"I  have  to  be  obstinate  now  and  then.  But  she's 
so  handsome  and  stately  that  it's  pretty  easy  to  make 
a  success  of  her.  Some  of  the  people  who  come  to  us 
really  fill  me  with  despair.  It's  almost  impossible 
to  think  of  any  tolerable  way  of  covering  them, 
they're  so — " 

"Amorphous  ?" 

"That  wouldn't  matter  so  much.  IN'o,  I  mean  they 
haven't  any  shape ;  nothing  to  suggest  to  one  any  line, 
however  fantastic.  I  should  love  to  be  able  to  refuse 
a  customer  occasionally,  when  she's  an  extreme  case. 
But  of  course  I'm  not  allowed  to;  and  after  all  it's 
very  good  for  me  to  have  to  get  over  difficulties  that 
look  impossible  at  first." 

"I  can  imagine  that  it's  a  wearing  profession — 
art,  rather.  But  most  art  is  tolerably  exasperating, 
I'm  told.  May  I  ask  why  you  took  to  it?  Just 
for  the  love  of  the  thing?" 

"Oh  no !     Chiefly  to  make  a  living." 

"In  that  case  I  congratulate  you  on  having  already 
made  such  a  position  for  yourself.     Were  you  all 


6  THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

alone  in  the  world,  then,  when  you  set  out  on  this 
career  ?" 

There  was  a  placid  intimacy  in  his  tone  that 
robbed  his  questions  of  the  suspicion  of  mere  prying, 
and  Shirley  made  no  effort  to  discourage  them. 

"]^ot  actually.  My  father  was  in  India — he  was 
a  soldier — and  my  mother  died  years  and  years  ago. 
I  was  twenty,  and  living  with  people  who  were  paid 
to  look  after  me.  They  were  quite  nice,  but  it  was 
all  very  dull,  and  I  was  always  hard  up.  So  I  tried 
this,  never  really  believing  that  anything  would  come 
of  it." 

''I  suppose  you  knew  the  people  who  run  Del- 
bruck's,  did  you  ?" 

"Delbruck's  wasn't  going  in  those  days.  But  I 
had  a  friend  who  kept  a  shop  in  Brompton  Road. 
She  admired  the  dresses  that  I  used  to  make  for 
myself,  and  offered  me  a  job.  I  was  with  her  for 
a  year  and  a  half.  One  of  her  customers  was  Em- 
meline  Brook — she  and  her  sister  are  Delbruck's,  you 
know — and  when  she  started  her  business  she  got  me 
to  come  to  her.  Of  course,  it  was  a  gi-eat  lift  for 
me;  and  my  friend  was  awfully  nice  about  it,  and 
urged  me  to  accept.  The  Brooks  had  a  Frenchwoman 
then  for  their  principal  designer,  but  she  had 
a  row  with  them  after  a  year  of  it  and  went  back 
to  Paris.  So  for  the  last  three  years  I've  had  her 
place." 

"That's  to  say  that  you  are  now  Delbruck's.     You 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT  7 

ought  to  set  up  for  yourself.  I  see  no  point  in  mak- 
ing other  people  rich." 

'^ut  they're  awfully  kind,  and  they  pay  very 
well." 

"iSTo  doubt.  They're  afraid  of  losing  you  and  most 
of  their  customers  at  the  same  time.  In  any  case 
they  should  take  you  into  partnership ;  but,  if  I  were 
you,  I  should  stand  alone." 

"That  means  capital." 

"I  don't  imagine  that  there'd  be  any  difficulty  in 
finding  that.  So  many  rich  people  must  know  your 
genius  by  this  time." 

"Genius  sounds  very  important,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. "Honestly,  I  should  only  make  a  mess  of  it, 
I  know.  I've  no  idea  of  business.  I'm  more  suited 
for  a  hireling." 

"Anybody  can  learn  business,  if  they  like.  But  if 
it  repels  you,  perhaps  your  father — " 

"He's  dead.     He  was  killed  two  years  ago." 

A  girl  of  seventeen  or  so,  her  yellow  hair  cut  in 
a  short  straight  shock,  her  eyes  and  cheeks  bright 
with  excitement,  passed  in  conversation  with  a  young 
man,  whose  shoulders  and  complexion  told  of  mili- 
tary service.  She  nodded,  smiling  gaily,  to  the  pair 
on  the  sofa,  and  went  on  her  way,  glittering  like  a 
Christmas-tree  fairy  in  her  dress  of  silver  tissue. 
Her  escort  looked  back  over  his  shoulder  at  Shirley, 
and  apparently  made  some  inquiry  about  her  of  his 
companion. 


8         THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"And  you've  no  relations  left  at  all  ?  You  live  all 
by  yourself?"  Sir  Edward  continued  with  a  grave 
sympathy. 

"Yes.  I've  got  a  little  flat  in  Wigmore  Street. 
On  the  whole,  I'd  rather  be  alone,  unless,  of  course, 
there  was  somebody  I  was  really  devoted  to.  .  .  ." 

Talbot  smiled. 

"I  suppose  there  will  undoubtedly  be  someone  be- 
fore long." 

"I  dare  say.  Did  you  like  Joyce  Cassilis'  dress  ? 
That's  one  of  mine  too." 

"I  thought  that  it  was  charming.  Silver  suits 
her  exactly." 

"Most  things  suit  her,  with  that  wonderful  skin 
and  colouring.     She's  very  pretty,  don't  you  think  V 

"Very ;  and  conceives  herself  to  be  even  more  than 
that." 

"Oh,  but  all  pretty  girls  are  a  little  vain,  natur- 
ally." 

"Is  that  so  ?"  His  intonation,  at  times,  very 
faintly  suggested  an  American  origin.  "They  don't 
all  display  their  vanity." 

"That's  only  because  they're  sly." 

"Don't  be  so  self -depreciatory.     It's  morbid." 

"I'm  very  fond  of  Joyce." 

"In  that  case  I  regret  suggesting  that  she  had  any 
faults  at  all.  I  agree  with  you  that  she's  an  attrac- 
tive and  lively  little  person.  I've  know  her  since  she 
was  fifteen ;  but  she's  never  really  admitted  me  into 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT         9 

the  inner  circle  of  intimacy.  I  am  not  old  enough 
for  that  honour ;  and  I  know  now  that  I  shall  never 
be." 

"Surely  she  doesn't  like  old  men  ?" 

"You  don't  quite  follow  me.  She  considers  that 
my  mind  is  immaturely  trivial.  You  must  have 
noticed  that  she  even  patronises  her  mother  a  good 
deal;  and  she  speaks  of  her  three  married  sisters 
with  a  pity  that  is  akin  to  love." 

"She  doesn't  patronise  me,  so  I  suppose  I  must 
be  old  too,"  Shirley  reflected  with  a  smile.  "But 
she  certainly  is  rather  grown-up  for  her  age.  I'm 
eight  years  older;  but  I  never  remember  it  when 
we're  together." 

"I'm  glad  she's  kind  to  you.  She  can  be  very 
crushing  when  she  likes.  I  speak  from  experience," 
he  answered,  with  a  burlesque  ruefulness. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Shirley's  eyes 
wandered  over  the  company,  returning  to  her  com- 
panion with  a  swift  obedience  as  he  spoke  again. 

"You  will  think  me  very  intrusive,  I'm  afraid; 
but  there's  a  purpose  in  my  question.  It's  not  really 
an  impertinence.  You  have  lost  someone  else  lately, 
besides  your  father  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  in  a  slightly  hushed  tone. 
"About  the  same  time." 

"Don't  talk  about  it  if  it's  distressing.  Had  you 
been  engaged  long?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  dumbly;  and  her  eyes, 


10        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

after  growing  a  trifle  brighter,  softened  and  darkened. 
Sir  Edward  sighed  quietly  and  looked  away. 

"I'm  surprised  that  I  haven't  met  you  before, 
either  here  or  at  Overboume,  as  you're  a  friend  of 
the  family,"  he  resumed  presently. 

"Yes.  I've  been  here  pretty  often  lately,  but  I 
haven't  been  asked  to  their  country  place  yet." 

"Have  you  knovcn  them  long  ?" 

"Not  more  than  a  few  months ;  but  they're  so  easy 
to  get  on  with  that  it  seems  much  more  than  that. 
You're  an  old  friend  of  theirs,  I  suppose." 

"I  met  them  first  two  or  three  years  ago,  when 
I  came  over  to  England  with  a  business  introduction 
to  old  Isidore." 

"Oh  ?"  She  hesitated,  as  if  feeling  that  it  was 
now  her  duty  to  ask  a  few  questions,  in  return  for 
all  those  which  she  had  answered.  "Were  you  in 
France,  then?" 

"'No.  I  had  been  living  for  a  good  while  in 
America." 

"Eeally  ?  I've  always  wanted  to  go  to  ISTew  York. 
They  have  wonderful  ideas  of  dressing  there,  haven't 
they?" 

"I  believe  so.  I  don't  know  the  most  fashionable 
parts  well.  Much  of  my  time  was  spent  in  South 
Carolina  .  .  .  Charleston." 

"Is  that  near  New  York  ?" 

"ISTot  very." 

"You  are  an  American,  aren't  you  ?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       11 

"Dear  me,  no !  I  was  born  in  Worcester,  and 
educated  in  this  country.  But  since  those  days  I've 
made  my  home  in  various  parts  of  the  world.  I  like 
change." 

Shirley  seemed  to  reflect. 

"You  weren't  at  Oxford,  I  suppose  ?" 

'^Why  not  ?     Have  I  lost  the  famous  manner  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  it's  like,"  she  confessed. 

"I  must  try  and  reproduce  it  for  you,  if  I'm  not 
too  much  out  of  practice.  Yes;  I  was  there  for 
a  short  time.     I  didn't  take  a  degree." 

"What  was  your  college?"  she  asked  quickly  and 
gravely. 

"Worcester." 

There  had  been  a  perfectly  noticeable  pause  before 
he  answered,  which  suggested  strongly  that  he  had 
either  been  searching  his  memory — a  manifest  ab- 
surdity— or  stimulating  his  inventive  faculty.  Yet 
he  appeared  too  well-bred  a  man  to  believe  that  the 
fact  of  having  been  in  residence  at  a  University  con- 
ferred upon  one  a  distinction.  Had  there  been  the 
least  trace  of  boastful  vulgarity  in  his  demeanour, 
an  observer  might  have  been  excused  for  suspecting 
that  his  undergraduate  days  were  imaginary.  Shir- 
ley considered  him  with  a  certain  eagerness. 

"I  suppose  that  was  more  than  seven  years  ago  ?" 
she  suggested,  raising  her  eyebrows  in  delicate  in- 
terrogation. 

'Tkfy  dear  Miss  Cresswell!     More  than  seventeen 


12        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

years  ago,  I'm  afraid/'  he  answered,  with  good-hu- 
moured regret.     "But  why  seven?" 

"Oh,  nothing!  I  went  to  Oxford  for  the  boat 
racing — Eights'  Week,  do  they  call  it? — then;  and 
I  was  only  wondering  ...  I  don't  remember  Wor- 
cester College.  ..." 

She  broke  off  again,  and  looked  down  at  her  hands, 
turning  a  ring  which  she  wore  this  way  and  that, 
so  that  the  diamonds  with  which  it  was  set  threw  off 
the  light  in  little  rainbow  sprays. 

"What  was  his  college  ?"  asked  Sir  Edward  casu- 

ally. 

"Trinity,"  answered  Shirley;  and  then  looked  up 
at  him  with  startled  eyes,  as  though  the  information 
had  been  drawn  from  her  against  her  intention.  His 
answering  glance  was  both  gentle  and  solemn. 

"You've  been  through  a  tragedy.  But  half  the 
world  has  been  through  similar,  or  even  more  dread- 
ful ones,  in  the  last  five  years.  Our  hostess  of  to- 
night lost  her  only  son — her  favourite  child — in 
nineteen  fifteen.  Hardly  a  household  in  England 
escaped  entirely." 

"I  know.  I'm  afraid  that  doesn't  console  me,"  she 
replied,  dropping  her  eyes  once  more;  and  added, 
after  a  pause:  "But  I  don't  encourage  myself, 
really.  As  a  rule  I'm  all  right.  I  can't  think  how 
we  got  on  to  the  subject." 

"You're  all  right,"  Sir  Edward  persisted,  low- 
ering his  voice.     "All  right!     What  a  lamentable 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        13 

condition  for  anybody,   especially  for  a  beautiful 
young  artist!" 

The  words  were  uttered  in  the  cool  tone  of  one 
who  states  a  generally  accepted  fact.  The  girl's  ex- 
pression grew  faintly  uncomfortable,  but  she  neither 
spoke  nor  looked  up.  Sir  Edward  contemplated  her 
for  some  seconds  with  a  speculative  eye. 

"You  aren't  one  of  those,  I  hope,  who  see  any- 
thing pious  or  altruistic  or  luxurious  in  keeping  alive 
the  memory  of  a  past  sorrow  ?" 

"Not  in  the  slightest  degree.  I  know  that  .  .  . 
that  father,  for  instance,  would  want  me  to  forget  and 
be  cheerful.  Only  it  isn't  so  easy.  I  mean,  it  isn't 
easy  to  forget  entirely,  is  it?  One  gets  on  well 
enough  for  a  time ;  and  then,  if  one's  tired  or  bored 
or  anything,  things  come  back." 

"iN'othing's  easy,  until  you  know  how  to  do  it; 
and  everything  is,  when  you  do.  It's  possible  to 
make  your  emotions,  your  subconsciousness — yes,  and 
your  physical  sensations,  as  they  are  called — as  obe- 
dient to  your  will  as  sheep-dogs  are  to  the  shepherd." 

"People  have  told  me  that  before,  but  I  suppose 
I  haven't  a  strong  enough  will." 

"Everybody's  will  is  of  the  same  strength." 

"Oh,  Sir  Edward!"  she  protested,  smiling  again. 

"Everybody's,"  he  maintained.  "Will-power  is 
a  force  that  runs  through  the  animal  world  continu- 
ously and  at  unvarying  intensity,  as  electricity  may 
run  round  a  circuit.     Suppose  that  circuit  to  pass 


14        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

through,  a  thousand  houses.  One  or  two  of  the  oc- 
cupants, skilled  electricians,  might  make  the  force 
do  nearly  all  the  domestic  work ;  a  larger  number  of 
smatterers  would  contrive  to  get  a  certain  amount 
of  light  out  of  it,  or  a  degree  of  warmth.  The  utterly 
untrained  would  be  able  to  put  it  to  no  use  at 
all;  and  the  ignorantly  rash  would  only  succeed  in 
giving  themselves  painful  shocks.  You  and  I  and 
Mrs.  Cassilis,  let  us  say,  have  the  same  store  of 
will-power  to  draw  upon;  but  experience  has  taught 
her  to  use  it  better  than  you  can,  while  I  have  con- 
sciously trained  myself  to  control  it  better  than  either 
of  you." 

Shirley  sighed  a  little. 

''Well,  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  cleverer  at  it  in  time. 
Persistence  is  everything,  isn't  it?" 

"Persistence  is  something,  but  not  very  much.  If 
you  gave  an  intelligent  savage  a  sewing  machine, 
without  any  explanation  of  its  uses — forgive  me  for 
heaping  these  analogies  on  you — persistence  might 
enable  him  to  do  something  with  it  in  a  few  years' 
time.  But  it  would  save  trouble  to  shew  him,  to 
begin  with,  how  the  thing  worked." 

"YovL  mean  that  you  can  teach  people  to  forget, 
when  they  want  to;  and  feel  what  they  like,  and 
all  that?" 

He  smiled- 

"Much  depends  on  the  person  taught.  The  will, 
as  I  said,  is  the  same  in  all;  but  the  intelligence 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        16 

varies.  I  think  that  any  one  could  acquire  com- 
plete control  of  the  will,  if  he  lived  long  enough; 
but  the  better  the  brain,  the  sooner  the  thing's 
done.  The  modern  beauty  specialists  profess  to  be 
able  to  give  anyone  the  ideally  perfect  face;  but, 
you  will  agree,  they  would  have  a  shorter  job  of 
it  with  you  than  with  me." 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  silence,  during 
which  Shirley  studied  his  serenity  with  curiosity. 

"Yes,  you  look  as  if  you'd  done  it,"  she  said, 
with  a  note  of  envy  in  her  voice.  "Are  you  what 
they  call  a  Christian  Scientist?" 

"Mrs.  Eddy  belatedly  got  hold  of  a  part  of  the 
truth.  She  was  a  highly  incompetent  preacher,  but 
her  basis  (which  is,  as  you  know,  immeasurably 
old)  was  sound  enough.  Still,  it  was  only  a  part. 
There  is  an  ethical  Christian  Science,  as  well,  which 
I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about  some  day;  and 
that,  to  be  sure  is  only  another  part  of  the  orderly 
whole." 

"I've  no  brains  at  all,"  Shirley  warned  him. 
"These  subjects  puzzle  me  dreadfully.  I  couldn't 
possibly  recommend  myself  to  you  as  a  pupil." 

"I'm  not  proposing  to  ^take  up  your  character'; 
I  know  enough  of  you  already.  You  are  different 
— not  in  manner,  of  course.  You  haven't  yet  real- 
ised the  quality  of  your  mind,  which,  if  I  may  say 
so,  is  unusually  responsive." 

"How  can  you  possibly  know  ?"  cried  the  girl  in 


16       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

a  sort  of  indignation,  as  if  a  reputation  for  stu- 
pidity was  dear  to  her. 

"It  is  so.  How  do  you  know  that  I  am  clean- 
shaven ?  Or  that  you  will  cool  your  cheek  by  waving 
those  feathers  backwards  and  forwards?" 

"Mummy  sent  me  to  tell  you  that  she  wants 
to  introduce  you  to  somebody  before  you  go,  Ed- 
ward, but  that  on  no  account  are  you  to  desert  Shir- 
ley until  you  feel  you've  had  enough  of  her,"  inter- 
rupted Joyce  Cassilis.  She  was  standing  alone  be- 
fore them,  looking  down  on  the  pair  with  a  gleam 
of  amusement  in  her  eyes.  She  had  a  rather  loud 
voice,  like  a  boy's,  and  a  certain  air  of  defiant  jovial- 
ity which  associated  oddly  with  her  pronounced 
femininity  of  appearance  and  her  fairy  dress. 
"Mummy  put  it  rather  differently — I've  forgotten 
how,  but  that's  what  it  came  to.  Shirley,  do  come 
upstairs  presently  and  have  a  talk.  I  want  to  tell 
you   something.     Will   you?     Promise!" 

"All  right.     When  are  you  going  up?" 

"Directly.  There's  nobody  left  I  want  to  speak 
to,  and  I'm  getting  sleepy." 

"I'm  proud  of  your  frock,"  said  Shirley.  "It's  a 
great  success.     Sir  Edward  approves  too." 

"Doesn't  it  look  nice  ?  You  were  right  about  the 
girdle,  after  all.  Of  course  yours  is  much  nicer; 
but  then  you  always  keep  the  best  ones  for  yourself, 
naturally.  I  love  you  in  black.  .  .  .  What  shall  I 
tell  Mummy,   Edward?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        17 

"Tell  her,  mj  child,  that  I  will  certainly  come  as 
soon  as  Miss  Cresswell  dismisses  me,  and  not  be- 
fore. You  might  add  that  I  consider  you  an  impu- 
dent monkey,  and  recommend  you  for  a  diet  of 
bread  and  water.  ...  I  grow  hot  and  cold  with 
shame,  at  times,"  he  continued,  as  Joyce  departed, 
with  a  smile  of  self-assured  scorn  of  his  last  words, 
"when  I  have  permitted  myself  to  address  that  young 
woman  playfully.  One  feels  as  if,  in  a  moment  of 
forgetfulness,  one  had  attempted  to  tickle  an  arch- 
bishop. .  .  .  Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  set 
you  free  in  a  minute  or  two,  Miss  Cresswell.  That's 
the  worst  of  these  parties,  and  the  best.  One  mo- 
mentarily tastes  a  number  of  new  personalities,  and 
then  the  plate  is  snatched  away,  and  a  new  course  is 
put  on.  There's  a  charm  about  it,  but  often  it's  a 
very  tantalizing  one.  To-night  I've  parted  without 
regret  from  a  number  of  dishes,  all  in  the  wrong 
order,  too ;  grape-fruit,  and  trifle  with  too  much  jam 
and  too  little  sherry,  and  Eoquefort  cheese,  and  plain 
roast  beef;  and  now  when  at  last  I  find  one  which 
I  confess  I  should  like  to  linger  over  ...  to  what 
dare  I  liken  you?" 

"Porridge?"  suggested  Shirley,  after  considera- 
tion. 

"How  can  you?  However,  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
again.  In  fact,  unless  you  decide  to  the  contrary, 
I  shall  see  that  we  do.     So  prepare  your  excuses." 

"But  I  should  like  it !     Why  not  ?     I  want  to  hear 


18        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

more  about  jour  dodge  for  feeling  just  as  jou  want 
to  feel." 

"The  dodge  shall  be  explained  up  to  any  point 
that  you  desire.  Meanwhile — or  in  case  you  change 
your  mind,  or  are  only  being  politely  mendacious — 
I  should  like  to  ask  you  this:  Are  you  religious, 
as  they  call  it?" 

The  question  produced  its  frequent  effect.  Shirley 
looked  highly  startled  and  confused,  and  answered 
with  a  shamefaced  haste. 

"I — well,  I  go  to  church,  you  know.  Not  always, 
but.  .  .  ." 

"I  quite  understand.     But  at  any  rate  you  are 
a    Christian  ?" 
"Oh,  yes!" 

"And  have  you  found  that  your  belief  consoles 
you  at  all  ?" 
She  hesitated. 

"Yes,  Of  course,  one  feels  that  .  .  .  well,  every- 
body's going  to  meet  again  some  day,  aren't  they? 
It's  rather  hard  to  remember,  just  when.  .  .  ." 

She  broke  off;  and  Sir  Edward,  having  waited 
politely  and  fruitlessly  for  the  end  of  her  explana- 
tion, came  to  her  rescue. 

"In  fact,  it's  never  really  consoled  you  the  least 

in  the  world.     You  believe  these  promises,  just  as 

you  believe  that  one  day  you  yourself  will  die.     You 

know  it  is  so,  and  you  feel  it's  iitterly  impossible." 

"Anyhow,   it's  rather  a  long  way  off,   and   one 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        19 

can't  quite  imagine  what  it's  going  to  be  like,  can 
one  ?" 

'*I  see  that  you  don't  accept  the  harp  and  crown 
idea  literally.  May  I  take  it  that  you're  not  one 
of  those  who  limit  their  beliefs  to  what  they  are 
able  to  extract  unaided  from  the  Bible?" 

"I  don't  really  know,"  Shirley  confessed,  half 
smiling,  half  apologetic.  ''I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
read  the  Bible  since  I  was  at  school." 

"The  Bible,"  Sir  Edward  gravely  informed  her, 
"is  a  great  revelation.  But  it  is  only  one  of  a 
number  of  similar  keys  to  the  mysteries;  and  to 
the  uninitiated  it  is  about  as  helpful  as  a  German 
cookery  book  would  be  to  an  Irish  general  servant. 
No  doubt,  however,  you  have  long  realized  that  it 
covers,  under  a  most  elaborately  devised  cloak  of 
words,  some  very  awful  and  eternal  truths." 

"Yes.     I  suppose  it  does." 

"You  know  that  many  have  been  brought  to  be- 
lieve, by  it  and  other  writings,  to  say  nothing  of 
spoken  words,  that  the  visible  world,  like  the  speech 
of  these  prophecies  themselves,  is  little  more  than 
a  splendid  and  sombre  curtain,  purple  shot  with 
gold,  behind  which  a  vast  stage  is  set  for  the  unend- 
ing drama  of  which  only  a  few  have  yet  been  per- 
mitted to  catch  an  occasional  glimpse." 

His  manner,  during  the  last  few  minutes,  had 
changed  from  a  rather  formal  friendliness  to  some- 
thing that  was  almost  enthusiasm  of  a  restrained  and 


20       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

majestic  kind,  and  the  girl  looked  at  him  uneasily. 

"Oh,  but  I  think  that's  such  an  uncomfortable 
idea.  Mrs.  Cassilis  believes  in  spiritualism.  Is 
that  what  you  mean  ?" 

"Perhaps  we  may  say  that  that's  a  little  bit  of 
what  I  mean." 

"But  surely  you  don't  believe  in  all  those  things 
that  go  on  in  the  dark,  do  you?  ISTapoleon  coming 
to  tell  you  how  he's  getting  on,  I  mean;  and  the 
furniture  moving  about;  and  knocks  and  bells,  and 
tambourines,  and  all  that." 

"The  thing  has  got,  for  many  reasons,  largely 
into  the  hands  of  vulgar  or  pedantic  people,  for 
many  years  now.  But  because  quacks  advertise 
electric  belts,  or  furriers  sell  coats  of  'electric  seal,' 
we  don't  necessarily  deny  the  existence  of  electricity, 
do  we?" 

"I  shouldn't  iliiYik  so,"  said  Shirley  judicially. 

"So  what  is  commonly  described  as  spiritualism ; 
so  with  the  fortunes  that  gipsies  tell,  and  the  glass 
balls  which  are  common  in  upper  rooms  in  Bond 
Street,  and  many  other  things,  some  still  partly  be- 
lieved, some  wholly  discredited,  some  just  beginning 
to  come  into  their  own.  You  have  an  open  mind  on 
the  subject,  Miss  Cresswell,  I'm  sure." 

"I  hate  being  frightened." 

Sir  Edward  smiled  humourously  at  her  air  of 
distrustful  appeal. 

"You  shan't  be  frightened.     Fear  comes  from  ig- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        21 

norance.  To  know  is  to  put  fear  behind  you.  .  .  . 
There  is  Mrs.  Cassilis,  looking  at  me  in  gentle  re- 
proach. I  suppose  I  must  go  to  her,  although  I'd 
much  rather  stay  where  I  ani." 

He  rose  from  his  place,  bowed  with  rather  more 
ceremony  than  is  usual  in  English  drawing-rooms, 
and  crossed  over  to  his  hostess,  who  forthwith  in- 
troduced him  to  a  young  foreign  woman  of  unbridled 
hideousness,  of  whom,  it  may  be  supposed,  Mrs. 
Cassilis  was  glad  to  rid  herself.  Sir  Edward,  how- 
ever, was  clearly  an  admirer  of  other  qualities  in 
woman  besides  physical  beauty;  for  he  was  soon  in 
deep  conversation  with  the  ill-favoured  exile,  who, 
rolling  great  eyes  of  dubious  sanity,  submerged  him 
in  torrents  of  oddly  pronounced  French.  After 
watching  the  pair,  with  a  faint  smile  on  her  lips, 
for  a  few  seconds,  Shirley  betook  herself  to  an  up- 
per floor  of  the  house,  and  passed  twenty  minutes 
or  so  in  confidential  talk,  of  a  romantic  nature,  with 
her  hostess'  daughter  in  her  pretty  bedroom;  at  the 
end  of  which  time  she  discovered  that  it  was  late, 
and  that  she  should  have  gone  home  long  ago. 

As,  gathering  her  cloak  about  her  shoulders,  she 
passed  through  the  entrance  hall,  in  conversation  with 
a  woman  friend  whom  she  had  met  on  the  stairs, 
she  perceived  Sir  Edward  Talbot  watching  her.  He 
wore  a  dark  overcoat,  and  carried  a  tall  hat  in  one 
hand ;  and  as  she  gave  him  a  smile,  he  stepped  for- 
ward at  once. 


22        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Have  you  a  carriage  here,  or  will  you  allow 
me  to  give  you  a  lift  home  ?" 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  answered  Shirley.  "Mrs. 
Spens  is  taking  me." 

She  was  passing  on,  with  a  word  of  farewell,  when 
he  spoke  again. 

"I've  made  Mrs.  Cassilis  promise  to  give  me 
another  opportunity  of  meeting  you,"  he  said,  gaz- 
ing earnestly  at  her.  "If  she  asks  you  to  Over- 
boume  for  a  week-end,  do  accept,  will  you  ?" 

A  faint  tinge  of  pink  crept  into  her  cheek,  but 
she  kept  her  eyes  on  his  with  a  laughing  frankness. 

"I  will  if  I  can  manage  it,  of  course.  Good 
night !" 

She  stepped  into  the  landaulette,  in  which  her 
friend  awaited  her,  and  Sir  Edward  watched  it 
thoughtfully  as  it  fussed  away ;  its  place  at  the  kerb 
being  taken  by  a  limousine  of  the  most  august  size 
and  taciturnity,  which  seemed  all  too  large  and  lux- 
urious for  the  single,  small,  quiet  man  whom  it 
snatched  away  into  the  starry  summer  night. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  flagged  garden  at  Overbourne  was  an  ideal 
retreat  on  such  a  day  as  this  Saturday  in  late 
June,  when  the  sun  ceaselessly  veiled  and  unveiled  its 
face  in  a  sky  of  tumbled  blue  and  white,  and  the 
south-easterly  breeze  rhythmically  bent  and  rela:xed 
the  tall  poplars  that  bordered  the  carriage-drive. 
High  walls  of  impenetrably  dense  box  shut  in  the 
little  square,  pierced  oli  two  sides  by  deep  arches, 
from  which  paths  wound  into  other  and  unseen  mazes. 
At  one  end  a  pergola,  climbed  upon  by  roses,  offered 
shade  beneath  which  the  small  house-party  was  as- 
sembled at  tea;  at  the  other  a  long  narrow  bed 
was  set  with  trim  patterns  of  flowers.  The  flag- 
stones, square  and  uniform  in  size,  were  of  all 
shades  of  yellow,  grey  and  white,  and  between  them 
grew  a  thin  piping  of  velvety  moss,  dark  green  for 
the  most  part,  but  occasionally  widening  into  a  patch 
of  bright  viridian.  Behind  the  flower  bed,  in  a  niche 
contrived  in  the  thickness  of  the  hedge,  a  marble  copy 
of  Houdon's  frileuse  drew  her  drapery  round  those 
portions  of  herself  which,  according  to  conventional 
prejudice,  least  demanded  it,  with  a  mock  modest  air 
of  the  prettiest  indecency.  In  the  middle  of  the 
court  a  shallow  stone  basin  had  been  sunk  below 

23 


24       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

the  level  of  the  ground.  Two  broad  steps  led  down 
to  the  water,  which  trembled  ceaselessly,  although  al- 
most imperceptibly,  with  the  passage  of  the  trick- 
ling stream  that  kept  it  fresh,  and  with  the  move- 
ments of  little  fishes.  Water  lilies,  both  white  and 
pink,  lay  becalmed  on  their  dark  rafts;  and  in  the 
glassy  and  dimpling  surface  were  reflected  the  tops 
of  the  high  trees  which  grew  beyond  the  confines 
of  the  garden.  Though  these  images  were  alive 
with  the  wind,  hardly  a  breath  of  air  stirred  be- 
tween these  quickset  walls. 

Mrs.  Cassilis,  her  abundant  grey  hair  concealed 
beneath  a  shady  hat,  had  fitted  her  generous  figure 
into  a  somewhat  inadequate  seat  of  basket  work, 
and  her  hands  were  busy  with  teapot  and  milk-jug. 
Beside  her,  the  slight  form  of  Sir  Edward  Talbot  was 
almost  invisible  in  an  immensely  deep  arm-chair. 
His  flannel  clad  shins,  neat  brown  shoes,  and  an  oc- 
casional plume  of  grey  smoke  arising  from  the 
depths  of  his  hiding-place  were  all  that  told  of  his 
bodily  presence.  On  a  carved  stone  bench,  the  rig- 
ours of  which  had  been  mitigated  by  a  number  of 
gaudy  cushions,  a  bald,  pot-bellied,  swarthy  man 
was  smoking  a  cigar,  his  little  feet  crossed  and 
tidily  tucked  away  beneath  the  seat ;  and  next  to  him 
a  thin  girl,  pale  of  skin  and  eyes,  with  startlingly  red 
hair  and  lips,  lounged  in  smiling  contentment.  In 
a  little  group  apart,  Joyce,  her  crocus  head  gay 
in  the  strong  sunlight,  was  chattering  and  laughing 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        25 

to  two  young  men,  of  whom  one  was  the  sunburnt 
soldier  who  had  been  her  squire  at  the  evening  party. 
The  other,  a  handsome  fellow  of  seven  or  eight  and 
twenty,  was  plainly  in  bad  health.  His  eyes  were 
too  bright,  fixed  and  anxious,  the  spot  of  colour  in 
his  cheeks  too  vivid,  his  manner,  when  he  spoke, 
too  hectic,  his  silences  too  frequent  and  abstracted. 
There  were  signs  too  of  slovenliness  in  his  appear- 
ance, although  his  clothes  were  new  and  admirably 
cut.  Joyce  called  him  Gathorne,  and  the  soldier 
Billy;  and  the  latter  listened  and  responded  to  her 
frivolities  with  a  tell-tale  indefatigability. 

"Isidore,"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis  to  the  bald  man, 
"ring  the  bell.  They  haven't  brought  a  cup  for 
Shirley,  and  she  may  be  here  any  moment.  Oh, 
it's  by  you,  Magdalen,  dear.     Do  you  mind?" 

The  red-haired  girl  discovered  the  hanging  bell- 
push  among  the  roses,  and  obeyed. 

"Is  that  Shirley  Cresswell  ?  I  didn't  know  she 
was  coming,"  she  drawled  lazily.  "I'm  so  glad.  I 
adore  her.  Do  you  know  her,  Edward?  Isn't  she 
a  darling?" 

"Oh,  Sir  Edward  knows  her,"  Mrs.  Cassilis  in- 
terrupted, with  a  significant  smile.  "We  all  do, 
don't  we?" 

"I've  only  seen  her,"  said  Billy. 

"That's  all  there  is  to  do,"  suggested  Gathorne. 

"It  isn't !"  Joyce  cried  indignantly.  "She's  aw- 
fully clever  in  lots  of  ways,  and  jolly  nice." 


26        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Eeally?"  Gathorne  answered.  "All  the  better. 
I  haven't  got  beyond  seeing  her,  myself;  but  she's 
quite  worth  seeing.  Who  is  she,  by  the  way  ?  Any 
relation  of  the  Whissendines  ?" 

"I  don't  really  know;  very  likely,"  said  Mrs. 
Cassilis.  "Her  father  was  in  command  of  his  regi- 
ment, I  believe,  when  he  was  killed,  poor  fellow. 
But  he  didn't  leave  her  too  well  off,  so  the  brave 
little  thing,  without  any  sort  of  help,  got  employ- 
ment as  a  dress  designer  at  Delbruck's — indeed  that's 
how  I  met  her ;  and  now  she  must  be  earning  quite 
a  thousand  a  year.  At  twenty-five !  Isn't  it  splen- 
did of  her?  Particularly  as  there's  no  necessity 
for  her  to  work  at  all  ?" 

"What's  the  matter  with  her,  then?  Isn't  she 
all  there  ?"  Billy  wonderingly  asked. 

"Very  much  so,"  Joyce  informed  him  in  a  crush- 
ing manner.  "She  doesn't  like  scratching  along  oh 
twopence  a  year.     Kobody  but  an  idiot  would." 

"But  she  could  marry  well,  any  time  she  liked. 
That  was  what  I  meant,"  her  mother  explained. 
"She's  quite  a  beauty.  Everybody  who  meets  her 
says  so.  I  suppose  she  prefers  to  be  independent; 
and  then  she's  devoted  to  her  work.  Sometimes, 
too,  I  suspect  that  the  poor  child  was  in  love  with 
some  boy  who  got  killed.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  I  know  she  was,"  Magdalen  yawned.  "Geof- 
frey Foulkes.  ...  Of  course,  that  was  nothing. 
Everybody  was   in   love  with   Geoff.     I'm   sure   I 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        27 

worshipped  the  ground  beneath  his  feet — the  onlj 
man  I  ever  met  that  I  could  stand.  But  he  and 
Shirley  were  engaged — " 

"Actually?  It  was  never  given  out,  my  dear, 
was  it  ?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  He  told  a  few  people;  me, 
among  them.  'No  doubt  he  saw  that  I  had  de^ 
signs  on  him  myself,  and  thought  it  only  gentle- 
manly to  warn  me  not  to  waste  my  youth  in  vain 
endeavour.  .  .  .  Dear  little  Joyce,  come  and  sit  by 
me,"  she  broke  off,  catching  the  girl's  hand  as  she 
passed  her,  on  the  way  from  the  tea-table  with  a 
fresh  supply  of  cake. 

"Oh,  do  let  me  go !"  cried  the  other,  disengag- 
ing herself  testily. 

"Was  that  the  Foulkes  who  was  brought  down 
somewhere  near  Douai  ?"  enquired  Billy.  "I  knew 
him.     He  was  a  good  sort." 

"That's  the  man.  He  painted,  you  know,  and 
was  supposed  to  be  going  to  do  something  at  it," 

"I  have  a  couple  of  hith  thingth,"  Mr.  Cassilis 
joined  in  swiftly,  taking  his  cigar  from  his  full 
lips.  "He  wath  very  promithing;  not  many  ideath, 
but  he  could  draw ;  and  drawing' th  rarer  than  ideath, 
jutht  now." 

"Dear  me,  yes!"  his  wife  agreed.  "A  charming 
boy !  He  stayed  with  us  once ;  and  his  painting  was 
most  distinguished." 

"No,  no !"  maintained  Mr.  Cassilis  irritably,    '^e 


28       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

couldn't  paint.     Loth  of  men  can  paint.     He  could 
draw." 

"How  sad!"  ruminated  Mrs.  Cassilis,  dropping 
the  art  question.  "She'd  have  been  very  well  off, 
if  he'd  lived  to  marry  her ;  he  was  a  relation  of  the 
banking  Foulkes ;  and  here  she  is  being  exploited  by 
those  odious  Brook  women,  who've  no  notion  of 
dressing  themselves,  let  alone  anyone  else.  I  won- 
der she  endures  it." 

"She  told  me  she  preferred  a  salary  and  commis- 
sion job  to  taking  any  risks  herself,"  said  the  voice 
of  the  unseen  Talbot. 

"But  I'm  sure  that's  only  because  she's  too  dispir- 
ited at  present  to  bother  about  business.  You  must 
console  her  with  your  wonderful  philosophy,  Sir 
Edward.  Or  perhaps  you'd  rather  console  her  other- 
wise ?" 

"I  will  buy  her  some  chocolates,  if  you  think 
they'd  be  any  use." 

"Oh,  you've  no  romance  in  you  at  all.  It  must 
be  by  philosophy,  then.  Everybody  tells  me  how 
extraordinary  you  are.  I  wish  you  could  think  me 
worthy  of  being  one  of  your  disciples." 

Magdalen  cast  a  stealthy  look  into  the  depths  of 
the  chair,  and  her  elaborately  curved  mouth  smiled 
faintly;  while  Gathorne  tilted  his  dishevelled  head 
backwards,  with  closed  eyes,  against  the  wooden 
frame  of  his  deck-chair,  as  if  wearied  by  the  turn 
of   the   conversation.     Mr.    Cassilis    drummed    the 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       29 


dome  of  his  waistcoat  witk  his  short  fingers  impa- 
tiently. 

"A  disciple?"  repeated  Sir  Edward  in  a  tone  of 
amusement.  ^'I  talk  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  I'm 
afraid,  to  you  and  everyone  else.  No  more  than 
that." 

''No,  no,"  insisted  the  lady.  "You  have  some 
new  religion  or  system,  whichever  you  call  it.  Kita 
Salomon  told  me  so  distinctly.  She's  a  great  ad- 
mirer of  yours." 

"We  all  have  some  sort  of  system,  no  doubt,  if 
we  think  of  metaphysics  at  all.  I  must  have  ex- 
plained a  good  deal  of  mine  to  you  already  in  the 
course  of  conversation.  But  I'm  always  ready  for 
fresh  discussion." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You're  deceiving  me  because  you  see  I'm  un- 
worthy. Isn't  he,  Magdalen?  I'm  sure  you  know 
all  about  it." 

"I  should  think  he  probably  was,"  the  girl  re- 
plied in  careless  amusement.  "I'd  never  trust  a 
word  he  says.  But  he  doesn't  admit  me  into  all  his 
secrets,  either." 

"Rita  spoke  of  you  as  if  you  were  a  new  prophet 
— in  quite  a  hushed  voice.  Truly  she  did.  Ask 
Joyce." 

"Oh,  Eita  talks  in  a  hushed  voice  about  all  her 
men  friends.  Mummy,"  Joyce  declared. 

"And  generally  it's  just  as  well,"  remarked  Billy. 


30       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"'Not  in  your  case,  sir,  of  course,"  he  hastened  to 
add  to  Sir  Edward. 

"You're  quite  right,"  Mr.  Cassilis  agreed,  with 
his  hurried  lisp.  "1  don't  like  that  Thalomon  girl; 
never  did.  j^ever  trutht  Jewth — never.  I  wonder 
you  have  her  in  the  houthe,  Adela.  She'th  hand 
and  glove  with  half  the  thcallywagth  in  London.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  her,  you'd  never  have  got  mixed 
up  in  all  thith  thpiritualithtic  nonthenthe  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Cassilis  turned  the  gaze  of  a  benignant  ele- 
phant on  her  husband,  and  was  drawing  herself  up 
to  a  reply,  when  a  footman  entered  the  flagged  gar- 
den, ushering  Shirley. 

She  looked  a  trifle  alarmed  at  the  general  uprisal 
to  greet  her;  bowed  at  Gathorne  when  introduced  to 
Captain  Billy  Lovat;  denied  all  knowledge  of  hav- 
ing met  Gathorne  Burrell  before,  subsequently  re- 
canting and  blaming  herself  for  her  stupidity;  ac- 
cepted the  formal  kiss  of  Mrs.  Cassilis  dutifully, 
and  the  impassioned  one  of  Magdalen  with  an  air 
of  startled  surprise;  smiled  upon  Sir  Edward;  and 
then,  losing  her  head,  forgot  to  take  any  notice  at  all 
of  her  host,  and  sought  refuge  beside  Joyce,  with  an 
expression  of  relief. 

"We've  all  been  discussing  you,  dear,"  Mrs.  Cas- 
silis told  her  in  her  fatly  affectionate,  if  slightly 
condescending,  manner.  "Your  ears  must  have  been 
burning  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        31 

"Oh  dear !"  murmured  Shirley.  Her  voice  spoke 
of  a  gi*ave  dismay. 

"Miss  Herbert — oh,  of  course,  you  know  Mag- 
dalen, don't  you  ? — has  been  saying  such  nice  things 
about  you;  and  Captain  Lovat  was  most  anxious  to 
make  your  acquaintance." 

The  soldier's  brown  face  took  on  a  deeper  colour. 

"By  Jove !  Eather !"  he  cried,  and  proved  his  de- 
light at  the  fulfilment  of  his  ambition  by  turning  his 
shoulder  to  the  new-comer,  and  devoting  himself  al- 
most feverishly  to  Joyce. 

Mr.  Cassilis,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of  Shirley, 
scarcely  looked  at  her,  and  greeted  her  conversa- 
tional efforts  with  the  briefest  words  of  agreement. 
A  furtive  embarrassment  showed  itself  in  his  averted 
eyes  and  uneasy  fingers,  which  he  sought  to  alleviate 
by  talking  loudly  to  his  wife,  from  time  to  time, 
across  the  intervening  bodies  of  his  guests.  Shirley, 
relapsing  into  silence,  glanced  at  Magdalen,  who  re- 
plied with  a  smile  of  sleepy  amorousness;  at  Ga- 
thome,  who  appeared  unaware  of  her  notice;  and 
finally  at  Sir  Edward  Talbot,  who  had  once  more 
sunk  into  the  recesses  of  his  deep  chair.  His  lips 
curved  in  polite  recognition  as  their  eyes  met,  but 
he  made  no  attempt  to  entertain  her;  and  it  could 
hardly  have  been  guessed  that  it  was  due  to  the  re- 
quest of  this  apathetic  spectator  that  the  girl  had 
been  included  in  the  party.     His  heavy  white  eye- 


32       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

lids  drooped,  and  his  body  lay  relaxed  in  luxurious 
carelessness  of  his  surroundings.  The  air  of  the  lit- 
tle, sunny  enclosure  grew  drowsier.  Only  Joyce 
and  Billy  continued  to  talk  and  laugh  unbrokenly; 
and  the  efforts  of  the  girl  to  draw  Shirley  into  a 
three-handed  conversation  were  consistently  de- 
feated by  the  determination  of  the  young  soldier  to 
address  all  his  remarks  exclusively  to  herself.  Be- 
fore long  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  look-round,  Shir- 
ley?" 

"Yes,  do,  dear,"  Mrs.  Cassilis  said,  "and  tell  us 
if  you  approve  of  it.  It's  so  delightful  to  have  got 
you  here  at  last." 

The  suggestion  of  the  words  was  that  Shirley  had, 
till  now,  hard-heartedly  declined  to  visit  the  house 
and  issue  such  directions  for  alterations  and  improve- 
ments as  seemed  desirable  to  her  superior  taste. 
Joyce  lighted  a  cigarette  from  Billy's  case,  and 
passed  her  hand  through  her  friend's  arm. 

"Come  along !"  she  said.  "No,  you  stay  where  you 
are,  Billy.     I  want  Miss  Cresswell  to  myself." 

And  passing  through  one  of  the  deep  archways,  the 
two  girls  shortly  emerged  from  the  winding  paths 
of  the  box  labyrinth  on  to  the  broad  and  velvety 
lawn  which  lay  beneath  the  southern  windows  of  the 
house. 

Overboume  was  a  big,  flat-faced,  red-brick  build- 
ing,   of   no   architectural   beauty,    but   warm    and 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       33 

friendly  in  tone,  and  cosily  wrapped  in  creepers.  It 
was  raised  above  its  surroundings  upon  a  double  ter- 
race, balustraded  with  grey  stone  and  set  with  large 
craters  in  which  red  and  yellow  flowers  flamed  like 
beacon  fires.  In  the  middle  of  the  lawn  a  fountain 
threw  a  waving  scarf  of  sequinned  gauze  into  the 
wind  and  sunshine.  There  was  a  golden  liveliness 
in  the  air  which  came  as  a  pleasant  change  after  the 
hushed  warmth  of  the  paved  garden. 

"What  a  lovely  place !"  said  Shirley,  standing  still 
to  admire  the  scene,  her  skirts  fluttering,  and  one 
hand  to  her  wide  hat.  Joyce  paused  at  her  side. 
Although  eight  years  younger  than  her  companion, 
she  topped  her  by  half  a  head,  and  the  two  made  a 
vivid  contrast,  the  girl  strongly  built,  upright,  and 
brilliantly  coloured,  the  young  woman  small,  slen- 
der and  delicate  in  tone.  Their  voices  too  were 
widely  dissimilar,  Joyce's  ringing  out  firmly  in  a 
boyish  alto,  Shirley's  dancing  and  sparkling  in  the 
upper  register. 

"It's  not  bad,  is  it?''  said  Joyce. 

"Bad !     I  wish  it  was  mine." 

"You  may  have  it,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  I 
hate  the  country.     There's  nothing  to  do." 

"But  it's  so  pretty  to  look  at." 

"You  can't  go  on  looking  at  the  same  thing  for 
ever ;  and  it's  never  any  different,  except  in  the  win- 
ter, or  when  it  rains ;  and  then  it's  beastly." 

"Well,  I  think  I'd  rather  live  in  London,  as  a 


34       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

general  thing;  but  I  should  love  to  have  a  country 
place  like  this  to  run  down  to  when  I  felt  rustic. 
One  can  have  nice  people  to  stay.  .  .  ." 

"But  they're  just  as  nice  in  a  town;  nicer,  be- 
cause they  don't  get  bored  and  sleepy  and  stodgy." 

"Does  Captain  Lovat  get  stodgy?"  asked  Shirley, 
looking  at  the  other  with  a  smile. 

"Billy's  only  been  dovni  two  days,"  replied  Joyce, 
blushing  brightly,  but  with  an  increased  resolution 
in  her  voice  and  eyes.  "I  love  him  at  present,  but 
I  dare  say  that  in  a  few  days  he'd  be  as  big  a  bore 
as  Gathorne  or  Edward." 

"Are  they  bores?" 

"Gathorne's  awful  here.  I  can't  think  why  he 
comes.  Perhaps  to  get  a  good  sleep.  They  say  he 
never  goes  to  bed  in  London.  Edward's  a  dud  any- 
where." 

"Oh,  I  thought  him  rather  attractive." 

"Did  you  really  ?     Sorry !" 

"Please  don't  apologise,"  said  Shirley,  laughing. 
"I've  only  spoken  to  him  that  one  evening  at  your 
house ;  and  you  saw  he  wasn't  very  excited  at  meet- 
ing me  again.  He's  an  interesting  looking  man ;  that 
was  all  I  meant." 

"I  know.  Most  people  say  that.  I  can't  see  the 
attraction.     He's  got  a  face  like  a  blank  walk" 

"I  think  that's  partly  the  interest.  One  wonders 
what's  behind  it." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        35 

"Probably  nothing." 

"Oh,  there  must  be  something,  surely." 

"Well,  nothing  to  write  to  the  papers  about.  Of 
course  silly  asses  like  Magdalen  and  Rita  say  he's 
so  wonderful ;  they've  always  got  to  be  swooning  over 
somebody  or  something.  But  when  you  ask  what 
he's  done,  they  can't  tell  you.  No,  I  believe  he  just 
lives  on  a  sniffy  manner." 

Shirley  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  sure  he's  clever,  even  if  he  doesn't  do  any- 
thing out  of  the  way.  By  the  bye,  what  is  he  ?  A 
writer  or  something  ?" 

"Nothing  nowadays,  as  far  as  I  know.  He  must 
be  pretty  rich;  he's  got  two  or  three  cars,  and  a 
house  in  the  country  that  he's  just  had  built  or  al- 
tered for  himself,  and  a  flat  in  Sackville  Street.  He 
told  me  once  that  he  was  a  speculator  in  his  young 
days." 

"The  Stock  Exchange!  That's  the  last  thing  I 
should  have  taken  him  for." 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  he  looks  the  part.  He 
lived  in  America,  you  know ;  and  Daddy  knows  lots 
of  those  Wall  Street  men,  and  they're  mostly  like 
that — clean-shaven  and  frightfully  pleased  with 
themselves  and  dressed  like  boys  and  not  saying  much 
except  'Sure'  and  'Nope'  and  'Gee'  and  that  sort  of 
rot." 

"But  that's  just  it;  he  does.     Last  time  we  met, 


36       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

he  talked  a  lot;  and  all  about  things  which  I  should 
never  have  thought  stockbrokers  bothered  themselves 
with;  religion,  and  so  on." 

"I  suppose  he.  caught  that  from  living  among 
American  millionaires.  They're  all  very  religious, 
Daddy  says.  Haven't  you  heard  about  James  G. 
Stoniman,  and  that  old  Irishman  who's  got  a  castle 
in  Galway  about  the  size  of  the  Crystal  Palace,  and 
is  building  Roman  Catholic  churches  anywhere 
they'll  let  him,  so  as  to  get  rid  of  all  his  money  before 
he  dies,  for  fear  his  sons  might  get  hold  of  some  of 
it  afterwards  ?  But  I  must  say  I  didn't  suspect  Ed- 
ward of  being  religious.  When  he  first  knew  us,  he 
was  always  asking  me  to  things,  and  paying  rotten 
compliments,  and  holding  my  hand  when  we  were 
alone  together.  I  couldn't  stand  it ;  so  now  he  hardly 
speaks  to  me,  except  to  say  'Eun  and  play,  child,'  and 
infuriating  things  of  that  sort.  I  expect  Le'll  begin 
holding  your  hand  before  long." 

The  two  companions  were  walking  slowly  up  and 
down  the  long  stretch  of  shaven  turf  as  they  talked ; 
and  each  time  they  passed  the  fountain  the  wind 
threw  a  few  drops  of  fine  spray  against  their  faces. 
Swallows  were  wheeling  in  swift  circles  about  them. 
Shirley  made  no  reply  to  her  friend's  last  anticipa- 
tory remark;  and  Joyce,  after  looking  at  her  side- 
ways, put  her  hand  through  her  arm  again. 

''Do  you  know  I  never  knew  until  to-day  that  you 
were  engaged   to  Geoffrey  Foulkes?     He  used   to 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        37 

come  and  see  us  sometimes.  He  seemed  awfully 
nice." 

She  waited  for  an  answer,  but,  seeing  that  Shirley 
only  nodded  vacantly,  she  squeezed  her  arm  and  let 
it  go. 

"Poor  old  Shirley,"  she  said  briefly,  and  added, 
after  a  pause,  "I  don't  suppose  Edward  meant  to 
be  anything  more  than  fatherly,  but  I  hate  father- 
liness,  don't  you?  'No  father  ever  goes  on  like 
that." 

"Judging  by  his  manner  to-day,  I  should  imagine 
that  he  hasn't  the  slightest  intention  of  adopting 
me/' 

"I  shouldn't  worry.  His  friends  are  rather  a 
scratch  lot;  except  Mummy,  of  course;  but  she's 
friends  with  everybody.  There's  Gathome,  about  as 
cheery  as  Good  Friday  in  Aberdeen;  and  a  whole 
tribe  of  women,  like  Eita  Salomon,  in  sage-green  jib- 
bahs,  with  dirty  silver  rings  on  their  thumbs,  and 
their  heads  tied  up  in  dish-cloths,  and  strings  of 
brickbats  round  necks  like  a  plucked  chicken's ;  and 
Basil  Jacinth — his  real  name's  Bumpus — who's  mad, 
and  sits  in  corners  saying  nothing,  with  long  hair 
combed  down  to  join  a  loathsome  soft  beard;  and 
that  disgusting  old  E.  D.  Lewis,  who  shaves  his 
forehead  to  make  himself  like  Shakespeare,  and 
writes  the  sort  of  books  that  people  wrap  up  in  brown 
paper  if  they  want  to  read  them  in  public ;  and  Mag- 
dalen— I   don't  know;    I   always  feel  she's  hiding 


38        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

something  nasty.  But  she  does  dress  decently,  at 
least.  So  does  Edward.  But  most  of  the  gang  look 
as  if  they'd  been  acting  an  historical  pageant  in  the 
rectory  garden,  for  the  organ  fund,  and  got  caught 
in  the  rain." 

"Sir  Edward  looks  so  sensible  himself.  Why  does 
he  like  people  of  that  kind  ?" 

"Probably  he  enjoys  being  worshipped;  and  only 
that  sort  of  idiots  will  do  it.  If  you  really  want  to 
keep  in  with  him,  you'll  have  to  worship  too." 

"I  couldn't  really.  I'm  far  too  prosaic.  And  I 
should  get  the  sack  if  I  turned  up  at  South  Molton 
Street  in  a  jibbah.  But  I  don't  think  you're  quite 
fair  about  him,  Joyce.  He  wasn't  the  least  bit  god- 
like or  condescending  to  me." 

"Well,  you  wait  and  see  ...  I  say,  shall  I  take 
you  and  shew  you  the  orchid  house  ?  We  shall  have 
to  be  dressing  for  dinner  before  very  long." 

At  table  that  night  Shirley  found  herself  placed 
next  to  Sir  Edward.  He  was  serenely  polite,  in- 
clining his  head  in  silent  acquiescence  to  most  of  her 
remarks,  and  leaving  the  choice  of  subjects  wholly 
to  her.  The  effect  he  produced  was  that  of  a  cour- 
teous foreigner,  imperfectly  understanding  the  words 
addressed  to  him  and  capable  of  only  the  simplest 
replies.  After  a  little  of  this  collar-work,  Shirley 
turned  her  attention  to  her  other  neighbour,  Gathome 
Burrell,  who,  stimulated  by  a  good  deal  of  cham- 
pagne, was  highly  conversational  in  a  vain  and  in- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        39 

tolerant  manner  which  soon  reduced  the  girl  to  a 
resentful  subjection. 

It  was  not  until  the  following  morning  that  the 
ex-speculator  emerged  from  his  cool  reserve.  The 
bell  of  the  parish  church  was  sending  its  cracked 
summons  across  the  sunny  meadows,  and  the  mem- 
bers of  the  party  at  Overbourne  were  ignoring  it  in 
their  various  ways.  Mrs.  Cassilis,  seated  beside  the 
tennis  court  in  a  beehive  chair,  was  reading  "The 
Pretty  Lady,"  while  Joyce  and  Billy  were  knock- 
ing the  balls  up  aimlessly,  having  failed  to  induce 
anyone  else  to  play,  and  being  quite  unsuitable  op- 
ponents for  a  single.  Gathorne,  pleading  neuralgia, 
was  still  abed;  Magdalen,  declaring  that  she  could 
only  do  herself  justice  with  her  own  racket  and  shoes, 
which  she  had  forgotten  to  bring,  was  smoking  con- 
tentedly indoors.  Shirley,  quite  willing  to  join 
them,  was  as  indifferent  a  performer  as  Joyce;  and 
neither  girl  was  disposed  to  match  herself  against 
Billy  unless  she  had  a  reasonably  good  partner. 
Mr.  Cassilis  was  doing  nothing — his  usual  occupa- 
tion when  not  engaged  in  money-making.  He  would 
sit  for  hours,  his  feet  tucked  primly  under  his  chair, 
his  hands  folded  on  his  stomach,  motionless  and  un- 
vocal,  except  when  he  cleared  his  throat  in  an  ugly 
manner.  As  for  Sir  Edward,  he  had  missed  break- 
fast, and  only  emerged,  dressed  in  snowy  flannel,  at 
eleven  o'clock,  when  he  immediately  appropriated 
Shirley  for  his  own  entertainment. 


40       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Tennis  ?"  he  replied  to  Joyce's  suggestion.  "Cer- 
tainly not.     I  don't  approve  of  games  on  Sunday." 

"Don't  be  such  an  idiot!"  she  irritably  begged 
him.     "What  possible  harm  can  they  do  ?" 

"Kone  whatever,"  he  agreed  with  perfect  amiabil- 
ity. "Indeed  we  may  say  that  physically,  if  over- 
strain is  avoided,  they  do  good,  no  doubt.  Come 
along.  Miss  Cresswell.  I  cannot  believe  that  you 
are  set  on  getting  hot  and  dishevelled;  and  I  must 
have  company.  Lovat,  you  can  look  after  the  child, 
and  keep  it  in  order." 

And  uncheered  by  any  answering  smile  from 
Joyce,  he  led  his  captive  away  towards  the  laby- 
rinth of  cut  hedges  that  surrounded  the  Dutch  gar- 
den. 

"You  must  pardon  me  for  carrying  you  off  from 
your  friends,"  he  told  her,  considering  her  gravely. 
"I  haven't  had  a  word  with  you,  beyond  the  baldest 
formalities,  since  you  arrived;  and  I  only  consented 
to  come  here  at  all  on  the  understanding  that  I  should 
meet  you." 

"But  that  wasn't  my  fault,  really.  I  tried  to  talk 
to  you." 

"Yes  ...  I  was  interested,  for  a  time,  in  watch- 
ing how  you  hit  it  off  with  Gathome  Burrell.  Ga- 
thome  has  many  faults  of  manner ;  I  have  told  him 
so  often ;  and  you  are  almost  excessively  considerate 
of  the  feelings  of  others.  I  fancy  that  your  tempera- 
ments are  too  remote  to  make  for  friendship.     His 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        41 

attitude  of  superiority  amused  me  a  good  deal.  I 
hadn't  supposed  him  to  be  so  blind." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

Sir  Edward  covered  her  with  his  cool,  bland  smile. 

"Why  am  I  talking  to  you  V 

"1  can't  imagine." 

"That's  insincere.  You  think  it  is  because  you 
are  a  beautiful  girl,  with  a  genius  for  adorning  beau- 
ty. Well,  you  are  partly  right.  There's  no  need 
to  be  embarrassed  by  the  confession  of  a  man  so  very 
much  older  than  yourself  that  he  finds  in  you,  on  this 
sunny  morning  and  in  this  delightful  garden,  all  the 
appeal  of  the  lilies  and  pale  roses  that  surround  us 
— enchanting  and  pathetically  fragile.  But  that's 
not  all;  indeed  it's  the  smallest  part  of  it.  To  my 
mind,  there  are  other  and  stronger  attractions  in 
you." 

Shirley,  who  had  looked  supremely  ill  at  ease, 
during  the  exhibition  of  these  late-Victorian  compli- 
ments, made  an  obvious  effort  to  treat  the  matter 
with  appropriate  frivolity. 

"Please  go  on !     I  love  feeling  conceited." 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  you  are  not  grown  up." 

"I'm  ashamed  to  say  I'm  twenty-five ;  but  I  know 
I'm  stupid  for  my  age.     Are  you  fond  of  children  ?" 

"That  depends.  I  like  children  who  are  not 
grown  up;  and  you  are  wrong  in  thinking  that  I 
describe  you  as  immature  because  you  are  stupid. 
It  is,  in  fact,  exactly  for  the  contrary  reason." 


42       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"I  don't  understand." 

''Shall  we  take  this  path?"  he  asked,  pausing  at 
one  of  the  entrances  to  the  box-maze.  ''There's 
rather  an  interesting  thing  that  I  want  you  to 
see.  .  .  .  Let  me  explain  a  little.  You  are  not 
grown  up  at  twenty-five,  and  you  are  therefore  not 
stupid.  But  Mrs.  Cassilis  at  fifty,  and  her  husband 
at  something  more,  and  Captain  Lovat  at  about  your 
own  age,  and  Joyce  at  seventeen  are  all  thoroughly 
mature  and,  according  to  my  standards,  irredeemably 
stupid.  You  see,  then,  that  it's  natural  for  me  to 
seek  your  society  while  I  am  down  here." 

"How  about  Miss  Herbert  and  Mr.  Burrell  ?" 

"They  are  neither  entirely  children  nor  altogether 
stupid,  which  happens  at  times.  But  I  know  them 
too  well.  There  is  no  sense  of  adventure  in  talking 
to  them.  .  .  .  Stupidity,  you  see.  Miss  Cresswell,  is 
a  sort  of  disease-germ.  It  is  not  the  absence  of  wis- 
dom, as  darkness  is  the  absence  of  light,  but  an  op- 
posing force.  It  is  positive,  not  negative.  We  are 
born  wise,  but  the  microbe  of  stupidity  is  in  all  of 
us,  waiting  to  be  cultivated  or  destroyed — or,  at 
least,  scotched.  If  you  could  get  any  baby  born  into 
the  world  to  speak  to  you  before  stultifying  influ- 
ences have  got  to  work  on  its  congenital  wisdom,  you 
would  find  it  perfectly  wise." 

"But  surely  experience — "  interrupted  Shirley, 
with  a  face  of  incredulity. 

"Experience  is  not  wisdom.     So  far  from  being  a 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        43 

paradox,  the  phrase  'Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and 
sucklings'  is  the  purest  statement  of  fact.  Wisdom, 
like  will-force,  is  a  natural  and  universal  gift;  the 
power  to  judge,  reason  and  discriminate.  By  ex- 
perience one  may  learn  to  use  the  power — no  more 
than  that.  Yet  you  see  people  with  every  form  of 
experience  growing  daily  stupider  and  stupider ;  one 
may  say  it  is  almost  a  general  rule.  They  have 
cultivated  their  stupidity  to  a  point  where  experi- 
ence is  not  only  useless  but  actually  pernicious. 
They  misapply  it  in  every  action  and  every  thought. 
Taken  in  time,  all  human  creatures  could  be  saved 
from  this  creeping  sickness ;  but  the  swiftness  of  its 
advance  depends  on  surrounding  influences,  and 
many  are  past  cure  before  they  have  learned  to  artic- 
ulate. That,  perhaps,  is  just  as  well.  A  world 
populated  by  wholly  wise  men  and  women  might  turn 
out  to  be  a  dull  spot,  after  all." 

"Then  you  mean,"  cried  Shirley,  her  eyes  and  lips 
undisguisedly  amused,  "that  if  you  were  given  charge 
of  all  the  newly  born  babies  you  could  make  them  all 
clever." 

"Exactly.  What  a  picture  it  presents  to  the  mind ! 
But  .  .  .  exactly!" 

"And  you  still  think  there's  hope  for  me?" 

"I  think  so,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head  at  her, 
with  a  smile  of  reproach,  "although  I  am  not  sure 
that  you  have  not  over-fostered  a  sense  of  derision, 
■vrhich  is  not  a  part  of  wisdom,  you  know.     But  take 


44.       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

Joyce,  now.  When  I  saw  her  first  she  was  fifteen, 
or  a  little  less,  I  believe ;  like  yourself,  physically  in- 
teresting, and  still  capable,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  of 
learning  rightly.  I  was  mistaken.  I  was  too  late. 
Before  I  finally  decided  this,  I  had  patiently  borne 
a  great  deal  of  the  society  of  her  extremely  kind  and 
hospitable  relations — people  who,  otherwise,  I  should 
scarcely  have  pursued.  In  sheer  politeness,  I  am 
compelled  to  frequent  them  still,  at  times;  even 
though  I  gave  up  all  hope  of  the  child  a  good  while 
ago.  She  is  old — oh,  so  old !  Will  you  believe  that 
the  only  idea  that  she  got  (at  fifteen!)  of  my  efforts 
to  draw  her  out  of  the  ruck  of  the  dull  was  that  I  was 
attempting  to  make  love  to  her?  ...  So  I  may  be 
mistaken  in  you;  but  I  am  of  a  sanguine  nature. 
Would  you  care  to  become  the  object  of  an  experi- 
ment ?" 

"Honestly,"  Shirley  protested,  after  some  hesita- 
tion, "you're  quite  wrong  in  thinking  me  the  least 
bit  clever.  I  really  know  nothing  at  all,  except  how 
to  make  dresses." 

"I  have  told  you  that  that  is  all  to  the  good. 
There  is  the  old  simile  of  the  clean  slate.  But  the 
mind,  unfortunately,  is  neither  a  slate  nor  a  wax  tab- 
let. It  is  a  granite  block,  on  which  the  lettering  is 
cut  to  an  indelible  depth.  By  degrees  it  becomes 
filled  from  top  to  bottom  and  side  to  side,  and  there's 
an  end.  'Now  there  is  still  plenty  of  space  left  in 
your  mind." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       45 

"Plenty.     It's  nearly  all  space." 

"Well,  that's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  It's  hardly 
an  advantage,  surely,  to  work  at  high  speed,  and 
over-time,  to  cover  the  whole  surface  with  false  and 
vulgar  inscriptions,  like  a  grocer's  grave-stone. 
Will  you  accept  advice  about  its  decoration  ?" 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"When  we  were  talking  about  will — the  last  time 
we  met,  you  know,"  she  reminded  him,  "you  told  me 
that  intellects  varied,  l^ow  you  say  we're  all  bom 
equally  wise." 

"Quite  so.  Intellect  varies;  and  intellect  is  only 
a  loose  form  of  expression  to  describe  the  power, 
which  may  be  acquired  from  experience  or  sun-ound- 
ing  influences  or  both,  of  employing  one's  natural 
wisdom.  Some  force  has  already  increased  this 
power  in  you,  while,  at  the  same  time,  your  innate 
germ  of  stupidity  is  still  latent.  But  look  at  the 
Cassilis' !  Content  and  convinced  in  their  fostered 
blindness !     What  could  one  hope  to  do  with  them  ?" 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  winding  path  along 
which  they  had  been  slowly  sauntering  emerged  in- 
to an  enclosure  at  the  end  of  the  labyrinth  most  re- 
mote from  the  house. 

"This  is  the  place  I  wanted  to  shew  you,"  said  Sir 
Edward.  "Shall  we  rest  here  for  a  little?  Or  are- 
you  bored  with  my  chatter  ?" 


CHAPTER  III 

THEY  found  themselves  in  a  mere  circle  of  turf, 
hidden  by  its  dark  walls  from  everything  with- 
out, except  the  immaculate  blue  of  the  sky.  A  rough 
wooden  seat  was  placed  close  under  the  hedge,  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  gi-ass  a  term  of  grey  stone,  sur- 
mounted by  a  placid  and  bearded  head,  formed  the 
genius  of  the  place.  Sir  Edward  halted  in  front  of 
this  battered  image,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
contemplated  it  thoughtfully. 

"You  hadn't  seen  him  before  ?"  he  asked. 

"m.     Who  is  he?     Homer?" 

"I  should  say  not.  He  appears  to  be  Silvanus. 
Once  upon  a  time,  long  ago,  he  was  erected  over  the 
bones  of  a  sacrifice,  and  with  proper  ceremonies,  on 
the  outskirts  of  some  Roman  garden,  and  hung  with 
garlands.  He  was  an  important  member  of  that 
vanished  household,  Miss  Cresswell ;  and  fulfilled, 
with  greater  effectiveness  probably,  the  duties  of  our 
'trespassers  will  be  prosecuted'  boards." 

"Then  he's  really  Roman  ?" 

"Undoubtedly.  He  was  once  my  guest,  and  will 
shortly  be  again ;  for  lately  I  have  prepared  a  coun- 
try home  for  myself.     Meanwhile  I  had,  for  a  time, 

46 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        47 

no  suitable  place  to  put  him.  The  first  time  I  visited 
this  house,  I  said,  when  I  wandered  by  chance  into 
this  grove:  'Here  is  the  very  shrine  for  which  I 
have  been  looking  for  my  friend.'  So  I  offered  to 
lend  him  to  Mr.  Cassilis  for  a  while;  and  you  will 
see  from  his  benignant  expression  that  he  approves 
of  his  lodging." 

''He's  a  nice  old  thing.     Where  did  you  get  him  ?" 

"He  was  dug  up  by  a  farmer  in  Somerset,  at  a 
time  when  I  was  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  I  se- 
cured him  for  thirty  shillings,  plus  sixpence  to  the 
labourer  who  brought  him  to  my  house." 

''I  suppose  he's  really  worth  more  than  that  ?" 

"Yes.     Shall  we  sit  down?" 

They  took  their  places  side  by  side  on  the  bench, 
facing  the  image.  The  morning  grew  hot,  and  the 
thin,  penetrating  hum  of  flying  insects  made  the 
air  vibrate,  but  the  blue  shadow  of  the  tall  hedge 
protected  the  seat  from  the  sunshine. 

"So  you  see  that  there  were  great  and  wise  civilisa- 
tions before  our  own,"  said  Sir  Edward  tritely. 
"May  I  smoke  a  cigarette?" 

"Do.  ...  Of  course  I  know  all  about  Rome  and 
Greece — " 

Sir  Edward  nodded,  with  a  slight  lift  of  his  eye- 
brows, expressive  of  a  gratified  surprise. 

"But  surely,"  continued  Shirley,  "that  old  man 
with  a  beard  isn't  the  best  proof  of  how  wise  they 
were,  is  he?     I  mean,  we  don't  hang  wreaths  on 


48       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

statues  nowadays,  and  trust  our  affairs  to  them,  do 
we?" 

"Don't  we  ?'^ 

"You  mean  Roman  Catholics?  I  thought  their 
images  were  just  meant  as  symbols.  They're  not 
idols,  are  they?" 

"And  this  is  a  symbol." 

"Yes,  but  what  of  ?  They  had  heaps  and  heaps  of 
gods,  and  they  went  on  anyhow." 

"Who  is  to  lay  down  a  standard  of  conduct  for  a 
god  ?  Does  the  world  strike  you  as  being  directed 
in  the  manner  in  which  you  would  do  it  yourself?" 

"But,  Sir  Edward,  you  don't  really  believe  in  the 
Roman  idea  of  gods — Jupiter  and  Achilles  and  Aph- 
rodite and  all  those  ?" 

"I  believe  in  various  unexaminable  forces  that  to- 
gether make  up  the  universe  as  our  senses  display  it. 
It  seems  to  me  immaterial  what  names  we  give  them : 
Elohim  and  Beelzebub,  with  his  train,  or  Ormuzd 
and  Ahriman,  or  the  thousands  of  other  labels  that 
men  have  attached  to  them.  Silvanus  Orientalis 
here  formed  part  of  a  pretty  old  and  wise  belief ;  and 
wisdom  is  older  than  the  hills,  and  is  constantly  be- 
ing lost,  rediscovered  and  lost  again." 

"Then  do  you  think  the  Romans  were  wiser  than 
we  are  ?" 

"That  is  to  cast  too  wide  a  net.  Rome  was  some- 
times startlingly  wise,  sometimes  unimaginably  silly. 
I  am  speaking  of  the  scholastic  average  of  knowledge, 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        49 

of  course.  There  are  wise  individuals  in  all  ages, 
even  the  grossest.  As  far  as  we  are  concerned,  we 
are,  to  my  mind,  just  rising  from  one  of  our  lowest 
falls,  and  slowly  beginning  to  work  our  way  up  the 
slope  once  more.  This  I  should  venture  to  say: 
that  Western  Europe  was  further  advanced  four  hun- 
dred years  ago  than  it  is  to-day." 

"Was  it  really?"  cried  Shirley,  her  lips  parted 
and  her  eyes  dilated.  "Haven't  we  made  a  lot  of 
wonderful  discoveries  lately,  though?" 

"They  were  equally  wonderful  the  last  time  they 
were  discovered." 

"Oh,  I  know!  The  Chinese!  They  always  dis- 
covered everything  six  thousand  years  before  we  did 
— gunpowder  and  compasses  and  suspension  bridges. 
I  used  to  think  they  were  the  most  tiresome  people, 
and  dreadful  liars,  too." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  the  Chinese,  al- 
though many  of  their  claims  are  demonstrably  true. 
But  take  one  of  the  very  basic  facts  of  the  universe — 
the  radioactive  energy.  What  is  being  laboriously 
pieced  together  in  our  days  was  not  only  known  but 
controlled  centuries  ago.  The  wise  men  who  had  the 
secret,  however,  dared  not  share  it  with  the  mob. 
If  we  have  lost  in  knowledge  lately,  we  have  at  least 
gained  in  tolerance — probably  in  consequence. 
Tolerance  is  the  virtue  of  the  supremely  wise  and 
the  profoundly  ignorant;  and  in  the  days  of  which 
I  speak  vast  numbers  of  men  were  in  the  search  for 


50        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

knowledge,  and  bitterly  hostile  to  opposing  schools 
of  thought.  So  the  great  secret  was  hidden  away; 
fondled  in  hiding  by  the  comparatively  few;  and  a 
ridiculous,  pseudo-scientific  conception  of  the  uni- 
verse was  constructed,  which  at  one  time  it  was  rank 
heresy  to  doubt,  but  which  has  been  blown  into  frag- 
ments by  the  partial  exhumation  of  the  old  wisdom." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  radium.  It's  got  some- 
thing to  do  with  X-ray  photographs,  hasn't  it  ?" 

"You  would  be  in  tears  if  I  attempted  to  give  you 
a  lecture  on  radio-activity;  and  so  should  I,  at  the 
sight  of  your  martyrdom.  But  this  you  certainly 
know :  if  there  was  one  sheet  anchor  in  which  the  sci- 
entists trusted  until  lately,  it  was  the  stability  of 
the  atom,  wasn't  it  ?" 

Shirley  nodded,  wide-eyed. 

"The  whole  of  their  theories  was  held  by  it ;  and 
now  the  cable  has  parted.  We  know  that  everything 
changes,  endlessly  and  inevitably ;  that  variations  are 
not  due  to  mere  rearrangement,  but  to  actual  trans- 
formation of  constituents,  proceeding  from  a  force 
that  lurks  within  every  atom;  that  we  can  pin  our 
faith  to  no  material  thing;  that  uranium  becomes 
ionium,  ionium  radium,  and  so  on.  We  can  imagine 
no  limit  upwards  or  downwards  to  these  metamor- 
phoses. Some  have  guessed  that  the  entire  process 
is  a  mere  circle,  though  too  vast  to  be  conceived ;  and 
that  agrees  well  enough  with  the  views  of  certain 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       61 

geometrists  who  have,  in  recent  times,  questioned  the 
authority  of  Euclid,  and  conceived  a  spherical  uni- 
verse, beyond  the  limits  of  which  human  reason  and 
imagination  can  never  travel.  .  .  .  Well,  these 
things  are  taught  in  the  schools  in  our  time,  but  the 
men  who  knew  all  this  and  much  more,  some  cen- 
turies back,  would  have  been  burnt  if  they  had  not 
kept  their  lips  shut.  They  knew;  they  even  em- 
ployed their  knowledge  in  a  way  still  impossible  to 
our  modem  scientists.  ISTo  doubt  you  have  laughed, 
yourself,  over  the  wild  tales  of  those  who  transmuted 
the  baser  metals  into  gold;  or  who  tore  the  vital 
energy  from  the  heart  of  the  elements  and  absorbed 
it  into  their  own  bodies.  Miss  Cresswell,  those 
stories  were  time." 

"But  how  can  you  possibly  know  ?" 

"Secrets  have  a  way  of  surviving.  I  know  more 
than  that ;  I  know  of  many  things  that  have  not  yet 
been  accorded  a  pompous  public  ceremony  of  unveil- 
ing. All  these  theories  of  natural  science  merely 
touch  the  surface.  They  are  convenient  working  hy- 
potheses ;  they  are  handy,  like  the  mathematical  sym- 
bols ;  they  are  not  the  truth." 

"I  don't  quite  follow  that." 

"Take  an  instance.  It  has  been  suggested  that  our 
world  is  about  a  hundred  and  ten  million  years  old, 
geologically.  But  the  world  is  an  instant — nothing 
— eternal." 


52       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  Shirley  despairingly.  ''Then 
what  is  true  ?" 

The  flying  insects  hummed  and  circled  about  them 
as  Sir  Edward  smilingly  contemplated  her  confu- 
sion. 

'' That's  hardly  a  thing  that  can  be  explained  in  a 
morning's  talk,  nor  to  an  unprepared  mind,  however 
receptive." 

''Can't  you  give  me  some  sort  of  hint  ?" 

"I  could  give  you  many,  but  they  would  probably 
only  worry  and  weary  you.  What  you  have  to  de- 
cide is :  do  you  want  to  know  the  truth  ?  Or,  rather, 
to  be  put  on  the  path  that  leads  to  it  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"You  say  that  without  reflection.  Remember  that 
far  the  greater  part  of  mankind  has  died  without 
having  a  glimpse  of  it,  and  many  of  them  have  got 
a  good  deal  out  of  life." 

Shirley  considered  this  proposition  for  a  time, 
with  her  eyes  on  the  ground;  while  Sir  Edward 
watched  her  with  an  expression  almost  of  tenderness 
on  his  smooth  face. 

"That's  true,"  she  said  presently.  "Perhaps  it 
may  be  better  to  live  in  an  imaginary  world.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  think?"  she  concluded,  looking  up  at 
him  suddenly. 

"Do  you  really  want  my  advice?" 

"Please!" 

"It's  prejudiced,  you  understand." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        53 

"I'm  not  obliged  to  follow  it,  am  I  ?"  she  pointed 
out,  her  solemnity  relaxing. 

"Then,  in  jour  place,  I  should  choose  to  know  all 
I  could.  More  than  that,  I  myself  am  anxious  that 
you  should." 

"Why  ?" 

"If  you  were  going  carelessly  through  life,  like 
Lovat  or  Joyce  or  her  mother  or  even  her  father,  then 
I  should  not  attempt  to  influence  you  one  way  or  the 
other.  It  would  be  a  matter  for  you  to  decide  un- 
aided. But  you  are  not  happy,  or  only  happy  in 
patches.  The  blows  that  you  have  taken  from  fate 
have  left  their  marks.  You  have  an  unusually  sen- 
sitive nature;  your  eyes,  your  mouth,  your  voice, 
your  hands,  the  texture  of  your  skin,  all  proclaim 
that.  The  question  is :  can  you  forget,  as  less  highly 
strung  people  forget?  Or,  in  any  case,  will  it  not 
be  a  long  and  sorrowful  process  ?  I  am  profoundly 
interested  in  you,  IVIiss  Cresswell.  To  what  is  loosely 
called  a  mystic,  like  myself,  you  radiate  a  curious 
personal  charm  quite  unconnected  with,  and  in  ad- 
dition to,  your  physical  beauty.  I  should  like  to  see 
you  happy." 

His  tone  was  dispassionately  gentle,  and  the  girl 
acknowledged  his  sympathy  with  a  swift  look  of 
gratitude. 

"You  think  that  if  I  knew  more  I  should  be  hap- 
pier ?" 

"I  know  that  if  you  had  the  inclination  and  pa- 


64        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

tience  to  learn  enougli,  you  could  be  entirely  happy." 

"That  sounds  too  good  to  be  true.  Why  doesn't 
everyone  learn,  if  that's  so?" 

"Everyone  isn't  given  the  chance.  Those  who 
know  much  are  not  necessarily  philanthropists.  And 
most,  as  I  told  you,  are  unable  to  learn,  even  if  they 
get  a  chance;  for  it  generally  comes  too  late.  But 
you,  I  am  pretty  sure,  can  learn  if  you  like." 

"I  wonder.  .  .  .  You  told  me  in  London  that,  if 
I  let  you,  you  could  teach  me  to  forget  what  I 
wanted  to,  and  to  feel  as  I  liked  to  feel,  but  I  didn't 
understand  then  that  it  would  be  by  being  let  into 
secrets  about  the  world.  I  thought  it  was  only  by  ex- 
ercising my  will — by  pretending  that  everything  was 
all  right,  like  the  Christian  Scientists.  You  said 
(didn't  you?)  that  their  ideas  were  true  enough,  as 
far  as  they  went ;  but  that  there  was  another  sort  of 
Christian  Science  that  you'd  explain  to  me  some 
day — ethical,  was  it  ?" 

"You  remember  me  perfectly.  But  don't  speak  of 
the  Christian  Science  method  as  that  of  pretending 
to  be  well,  and  so  being,  or  getting,  well.  According 
to  them,  it  is  the  exact  contrary ;  realising  that  sick- 
ness is  an  illusion,  that,  in  fact,  one  is  pretending 
to  be  ill.  That,  however,  is  equally  untnie.  Health 
or  sickness,  quietude  or  pain,  are  merely  the  result 
of  a  deliberate  choice.  You  can  have  which  you  like. 
To-day  you  are  wearing  that  very  pretty  white  dress ; 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        55 

yesterday,  when  you  arrived,  you  had  an  equally 
pretty  one  of  blue.  When  you  dressed  this  morning, 
you  did  not  say  'Let's  pretend  that  my  blue  dress  is 
white,'  or:  'I  was  deluded  yesterday  into  believing 
that  this  white  dress  was  blue.'  You  chose  the  one 
you  wanted  to  wear,  and  put  it  on." 

She  wrinkled  her  smooth  forehead  faintly. 

"I  see.  .  .  .  And  what  about  the  ethical  part  of 
it  ?     What  is  ethical,  exactly  ?" 

"Shall  we  say  the  rule  of  conduct,  the  idea  of 
Good  and  Evil,  you  know  ?" 

"You  mean  that  one  can  choose  to  do  right  or 
wrong  ?     But  we  all  do  that." 

"1^0,  no.  You  misunderstand  me.  We  can 
choose  whether  we  will  make  what  we  are  about  to 
do  right  or  wrong." 

"But  that's  the  same  thing." 

"Surely  not.  Let's  assume  an  absurd  instance. 
I  contemplate  killing  Mr.  Cassilis,  for  no  reason,  or 
because,  perhaps,  I  dislike  his  habit  of  snorting, 
which  I  certainly  do.  If  Lovat  did  the  same  action 
he  would  be  wrong.  If  I  did  it,  I  could  make  it 
right." 

"That  would  only  prove  that  you  thought  more 
of  yourself  than  Captain  Lovat  does.  I  suppose  most 
murderers  think  they  were  quite  right  to  do  their 
murders." 

"Doubtless ;  but  they  are  often  mistaken.     In  my 


56       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

case,  it  would  not  be  a  question  of  personal  prejudice. 
The  killing  would  be  right.  I  should  have  made  it 
right  beforehand." 

Shirley  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  see  that  a  bit.  Besides,  what  would  be 
the  good  of  it  ?     They'd  hang  you  just  the  same." 

'':n'o." 

"You  mean  that  you  could  persuade  them  ...    ?" 

"There  would  be  no  need  for  persuasion.  Why 
should  there  be?  One  is  hanged  for  doing  evil, 
not  for  doing  good.  At  least,  that's  the  the- 
ory." 

"Sir  Edward !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  if  I  had 
enough  will — or  knowledge,  or  whatever  it  is,  I  could 
go  and  steal  half  the  Crov^m  jewels  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  everyone  would  agree  that  I  was  quite  right ; 
and  that  if  Mrs.  Cassilis  stole  the  other  half  in  the 
afternoon,  they'd  send  her  to  prison  ?" 

"Eoughly,  that  is  so." 

"But  that's  really  altering  the  whole  course  of 
nature." 

"Exactly." 

"Nothing's  real  ...  is  that  the  idea  ?  It's  only 
a  sort  of  dream,  and  we  can  learn  to  dream  what  we 
like?" 

"]S^ot  quite  that  either,  although  something  like  it. 
We  are  all  world-creators;  but  most  of  us  create 
blindly.  The  stuff  is  all  ready  to  our  hands,  without 
form ;  and  the  unskilful  compound  it  into  shapes  that 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        57 

partially  please  and  partially  disappoint  them;  and 
the  few  achieve  masterpieces." 

''It  sounds  to  me — I  know  I'm  silly,  and  don't 
think  I  mean  to  be  rude — but  it  sounds  to  me  quite 
mad/'  Shirley  sighed  hopelessly.  "Anyhow,  I 
should  think  it's  rather  a  dangerous  sort  of  belief — 
immoral,  isn't  it?  A  few  of  us  could  go  rushing 
about  killing  people  and  taking  their  money  and 
running  off  with  their  husbands  and  wives;  and, 
however  little  the  others  enjoyed  it,  it  would  be  all 
right,  because  we  said  it  was." 

The  man  laughed  at  her  fractiousness. 

"I  agree  that  it  sounds  rather  like  the  Saturnalia ; 
but  I  warned  you  that  the  subject  was  practically 
impossible  to  set  out  clearly  in  a  short  talk.  Notice 
this,  however :  it  couldn't  possibly  be  described  as  an 
immoral  philosophy.     To  do  right  is  not  immoral." 

"Please !     I'm  so  confused." 

"Let's  leave  that  side  of  the  question,  then.  In 
broad  terms,  you  see  the  general  effect  on  one's  per- 
sonal lot;  the  power  to  control  fate  absolutely,  and 
to  make  one's  experiences  whatever  one  chooses.  Do 
you  consider  that  that  offers  sufficient  inducement  to 
study  the  matter  a  little  further?  You  can  stop  at 
any  point  you  like ;  anywhere  you  feel  you  disagree, 
or  instinct,  or  prejudice — yes,  or  superior  wisdom, 
perhaps — tells  you  that  you  are  on  perilous  ground. 
You  understand  that  all  this  talk  about  murders  and 
what  not  is  only  for  the  purpose  of  letting  you  see. 


58        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

tkrough  extreme  and  even  burlesque  illustrations, 
What  powers  are  within  man's  reach.  The  supreme 
object  would  be  happiness;  absolute  personal  con- 
tentment; raptures  that  are  inconceivable  to  most  of 
us." 

"It  sounds  lovely,"  Shirley  agreed.  "How  does 
one  learn  ?     Is  it  frightfully  difficult  ?" 

"ISTeither  difficult  nor  easy.  It  is  a  simple  ques- 
tion of  personality.  But  nothing  is  lost  by  discover- 
ing whether  you  have  a  suitable  one." 

Shirley  put  back  her  shoulders,  and  sat  more  up- 
right, looking  out  over  the  stiff  line  of  the  hedge-top 
at  the  stainless  sky.  A  returning  smile  came  and 
went  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"What  do  I  have  to  do  ?  Go  to  lectures  ?  I  don't 
much  like  lectures." 

"God  forbid !  You  would  have  to  talk  to  me,  or, 
if  you  prefer,  to  others  who  have  the  knowledge  to  a 
greater  or  less  degree.  Further.  .  .  ."  he  paused, 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  sternness  that 
banished  the  smile  from  her  face,  "further,  there  are 
certain  concessions  that  must  be  made  to  the  human 
mind.  The  craving  for  symbolism  and  ritual  is 
deeply  rooted  in  our  natures.  They  form  an  essen- 
tial part  of  metaphysical  instruction.  They  often 
triumph  where  mere  logic  is  bound  to  fail,  because 
they  make  an  appeal  to  profounder  gifts  than  the 
faculty  of  reason.  This  question  of  Good  and  Evil, 
for  instance  .  .  ." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        59 

"I  was  thinking  of  that  while  we  were  talking 
about  it/'  Shirley  interrupted  intelligently.  "I  sup- 
pose you'd  say  that  there's  no  such  thing  scientifi- 
cally, as  either.  Of  course,  I  can't  help  fancying 
there  is,  but  then  I  haven't  got  a  scientific  mind." 

"And  you  are  perfectly  right.  You  have  fore- 
stalled my  very  words.  Logically  one  can  place  be- 
yond all  possible  doubt  that  the  conceptions  of  right 
and  wrong  are  only  based  on  variable  social  conven- 
ience; that  any  eternal,  world-wide,  immutable  stan- 
dard must  be  an  absurdity.  And,  while  we  prove  it, 
our  whole  nature  rejects  the  conclusion,  in  defiance 
of  our  reasoning  minds.  LIow  then  are  we  to  ap- 
proach the  knowledge  of  these  two  great  opposing 
forces  ?  Through  the  emotions,  stimulated  by  a 
suitable  ritual." 

"So  Mrs.  Cassilis  was  right  when  she  told  me,  last 
night,  that  you  had  started  a  new  religion  ?" 

"A  new  religion  is  not  an  accurate  description. 
The  materials  of  which  my  belief  is  built  are  prob- 
ably much  the  same  as  your  own,  although  the  com- 
pleted construction  is  different.  I  am  not  trying  to 
lead  you  away  after  false  gods.  Don't  think  that. 
Your  God,  the  Almighty  One,  is  mine  also;  your 
Devil  ..." 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  believe  in  him"  she  cried  de- 
fiantly. 

"The  powers  of  evil  exist ;  be  sure  of  that.  How 
can  you  look  about  you  and  doubt  it  ?     But  they  are 


60       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

slaves,  not  lords.  You  need  not  fear — or  possibly 
hope — that  mj  object  is  to  persuade  you  to  transfer 
your  allegiance  from  the  master  to  the  servant,  as 
certain  sects  of  mystics  are  reported  to  do.  My  fol- 
lowers do  not  attempt  to  enter  into  bargains  in  which 
their  souls  are  the  purchase  money  or  consideration ; 
and  I  suppose  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  no  man  has 
been  held  bound  by  such  a  contract  since  the  world 
began." 

"Of  course  not,"  Shirley  agreed,  risking  a  laugh. 
"So  you  have  followers,  then  ?" 

"Let's  call  them  associates.  We  are  all  on  the 
road ;  some  in  front,  some  behind.  None  of  us  have 
arrived.  I  make  no  claim  to  be  in  the  very  forefront, 
although  my  nearest  competitors  seem  to  wish  to  give 
me  the  first  place." 

"Who  are  they  ?     Anyone  I  know  ?" 

Sir  Edward  hesitated;  and  when  he  spoke  again 
his  voice,  face  and  manner  had  discarded  a  certain 
glowing  and  sombre  exaltation  which  had  begun  to 
make  itself  manifest. 

"For  various  reasons  I  never  mention  names  in 
this  connexion.  Every  one  of  us  has  necessarily  a 
commonplace  side  to  his  life,  from  which  he  prefers 
to  keep  his  spiritual  experience  separate." 

"You  don't  like  your  friends  to  talk  about  this  be- 
lief of  yours  ?" 

"I  am  quite  indifferent;  it  doesn't  affect  me. 
Please  don't  imagine  that  I  am  going  to  extract  a 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        61 

vow  of  secrecy  from  you,  or  that  there  is  anything 
underhand  or  insincere  in  our  proceedings.  You 
will  be  quite  at  liberty  to  talk  about  them  to  anyone 
you  like;  or  to  send  an  account  of  them  to  'John 
Bull/  if  you  prefer.  In  practice,  however,  I  find 
that  initiates  are  disposed  to  keep  their  own  counsel. 
Such  subjects  are  hardly  suitable  for  small  talk,  are 
they?" 

"Ko,  I  see  that,"  answered  Shirley ;  and  the  pair 
fell  into  silence.  The  sun  had  found  them  out  in 
their  hiding  place,  and  ^Shirley  opened  her  white 
sunshade.  From  under  the  edge  of  it  she  kept  glanc- 
ing doubtfully,  almost  humourously,  at  her  compan- 
ion who,  in  his  smartly  cut  flannels,  with  his  big, 
smooth  head  bare,  his  shaven  face  tranquil  and  un- 
compromisingly modern,  and  his  illegible  eyes 
watching  the  blue  and  brown  wreaths  of  tobacco 
smoke,  looked  particularly  unlike  the  prophet  of  an 
occult  sect.  Presently  he  dropped  his  regard  unex- 
pectedly on  the  girl,  and  spoke  as  if  in  reply  to  a 
remark. 

"Yes ;  it  all  sounds  very  absurd ;  and  it  is  absurd, 
if  it's  approached  frivolously  or  even  apathetically. 
Go  into  it  out  of  inquisitiveness,  teased  with  the  itch 
to  mock  at  anything  serious  which  is  almost  universal 
at  present,  and  you  may  get  a  certain  amount  of 
laughter  out  of  the  thing;  but  you  could  get  more, 
with  greatly  less  expenditure  of  time  and  money,  by 
going  to  see  Harry  Tate  sell  his  motor-car." 


62       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  she  apologetically  pro- 
tested. "You  say  I  needn't  go  on,  if  I  find  it  wor- 
ries me,  or  I  can't  understand  it  ?" 

"Dear  me,  no !  Some  never  get  beyond  their  no- 
vitiate; some  never  even  reach  initiation;  they  are 
given  an  indication  of  what  lies  before  them,  if  they 
choose  to  go  on,  but  no  more.  Only  a  few  attain  the 
higher  stages.  Most  get  out  of  their  depths  in  time ; 
or  for  some  reason  I  don't  feel  inclined  to  take  them 
further.  At  any  moment  you  are  perfectly  at 
liberty  to  retire  from  the  adventure,  with  as 
much  or  as  little  knowledge  as  you  happen  to  have 
gained." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  get  far." 

"That's  difficult  to  foretell.  But  I  feel— and  this, 
you  know,  is  the  only  reason  that  I  have  said  so 
much  to  you  after  so  short  an  acquaintance — I  feel 
somehow  that  you  could  reach  the  front  rank  if  you 
cared  to  do  so.  So  far,  you  have  tried  to  jeer  your 
troubles  out  of  existence,  to  treat  everything  lightly 
and  carelessly.  You've  been  grievously  hurt,  and 
you  think  that  laughter  is  the  salve  for  your  wounds. 
Eeal  laughter  is  to  some  extent  anodyne ;  but  yours 
is  not  real.  Laughter  based  on  incredulity  and  de- 
spair cannot  be  real.  It  is  bitter;  and  bitterness 
cures  nothing." 

"^N'o,"  she  confessed  in  a  low  voice,  looking  down 
at  her  lap,  like  a  scolded  child.  Sir  Edward  turned 
to  her  quickly  and  took  her  hand  lightly  in  his  own. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        63 

"I  want  you  to  believe  in  something/'  he  urged, 
with  an  almost  passionate  instancy.  "Anything — 
wisdom,  an  ideal,  love,  God — anything  that  will  lift 
you  out  of  this  wretched  business  of  setting  the  teeth 
and  shutting  the  eyes  and  waiting  for  the  end. 
There  is  no  end.  There  is  all  life  and  eternal  life 
before  you.  But  to  waste  even  a  day  over  a  useless 
and  painful  treatment  of  your  sickness  is  tragic. 
Will  you  try  my  way?  You  must  see  that  yours 
has  been  a  failure.  Will  you  see  if  mine  suits  you 
better?" 

"There's  no  harm  in  trying,"  she  said,  with  obvious 
reluctance.     "But  I'm  afraid.  .  .  ." 

"Stop !"  he  said  smilingly,  still  keeping  hold  of  her 
hand.  "You  musn't  start  off  in  that  spirit.  If  you 
can't,  for  the  moment,  feel  confident,  which  I  could 
hardly  expect,  at  all  events  keep  an  open  mind.  A 
very  short  trial  will  be  enough  to  persuade  you 
whether  there  is  any  hope  in  the  new  prescription  or 
not." 

"It's  kind  of  you  to  bother  about  it,"  murmured 
Shirley,  without  looking  at  him.  "And  I  do  feel 
pretty  beastly,  at  times.  .  .  .  When  would  you  find 
time  to  teach  me,  though  ?  You  know,  I'm  at  work 
all  day." 

He  released  her  hand,  shook  the  ash  from  his 
cigarette,  crossed  his  legs,  and  spoke  in  the  kindly, 
formal  manner  which  he  had  used  at  their  first  meet- 
ins:. 


64       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Yes.  I  should  imagine  that  you  might  do  a  good 
deal  by  yourself,  in  your  spare  moments." 

"Books?"  There  was  a  note  of  apprehension  in 
her  voice. 

"Books;  varied  by  conversation,  when  you  could 
spare  me  an  hour  or  so.  Don't  look  alarmed.  I 
think  that,  in  your  case,  the  preliminary  study  might 
be  cut  down  fairly  low,  though  some  is  essential,  I'm 
afraid.  To  your  nature  emotion  is  more  suggestive 
than  argument-  If  you  will  give  me  your  address  in 
London,  I'll  let  you  know  shortly  what  I  propose 
for  you.  First  of  all,  though,  tell  me  frankly  what 
makes  you  contemplate  exhibiting  my  remedy." 

"I  won't  do  that,"  she  assured  him.  "I  won't  let 
anyone  see  it,  truly." 

"I'm  sure  you  wouldn't,  although  I've  told  you 
that  you're  quite  at  liberty  to.  What  I  should  have 
said  was :  Why  are  you  inclined  to  take  advice  from 
me?  I  can  see  that  the  idea  of  a  ritual  presided 
over  by  me  not  unnaturally  amuses  you  a  little.  Is 
it  merely  an  appetite  for  new  sensations,  or  have 
you  really  a  feeling  of  hope  ?     And,  if  so,  why  ?" 

She  pondered. 

"Well,  I  don't  quite  know,  but  I  have ;  and  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  amused.  You  see,  one  doesn't  often 
come  across  a  person  who  takes  anything  seriously; 
at  least,  they're  ashamed  to  say  so,  if  they  do,  until 
they've  known  you  for  years.  So  I  wasn't  quite 
sure  whether  you  were  laughing  at  me,  or  not.  .  .  . 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        65 

And  it  isn't  only  inquisitiveness,  although  I  am  in- 
quisitive, too.  l^ew  things,  particularly  if  they're 
odd  or  a  Jittle  uncanny,  always  thrill  me  a  good 
deal.  But,  besides  that,  I  do  feel  that  you  may  be 
able  to  help  me  to  fuss  and  bother  myself  less.  Of 
course,  you're  clever,  and  you  look  so  sure  of  yourself 
and  calm  and  contented.  I  should  like  to  feel  like 
that.  Nerves  and  depression  are  horrible.  Do  you 
think  there's  any  real  cure  for  them,  or  must  they 
just  be  lived  down  ?" 

"With  good  will,  you  shall  be  as  impervious  to 
trouble  as  myself,  before  many  months;  so  you  see 
that,  even  if  you  choose  to  stop  at  that  point,  you 
will  have  gained  much.  But  you  will  go  on.  I  know 
it." 

He  threw  his  cigarette  under  the  hedge,  and  rose 
from  the  seat. 

"We'd  better  be  getting  back  to  our  hostess,  I 
suppose,"  he  said  with  a  polite  regretfulness  of  tone. 
"She  won't  forgive  me  if  I  monopolise  you  for  the 
whole  morning ;  moreover,  I  have  lectured  you  enough, 
goodness  knows,  for  one  day.  You've  borne  it  with 
exemplary  patience.  I  can  see  that  you'll  be  the 
best  of  pupils ;  and  it  shan't  be  my  fault  if  you  don't 
live  to  be  glad  of  it." 

During  the  return  to  the  lawn,  he  said  no  more 
on  the  subject  of  their  long  duologue,  but  talked 
pleasantly  and  at  random  of  more  commonplace  mat- 
ters.    Mrs.  Cassilis,  still  seated  in  her  w^icker  chair, 


66       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

had  dropped  her  novel,  and  was  laughing  at  some 
frivolity  of  Billy  Lovat's.  Joyce,  on  the  grass  at 
her  feet,  was  idly  peeping  into  the  pages  of  the  dis- 
carded book.  Her  father  had  gone  indoors,  and 
his  place  was  occupied  by  Magdalen,  who  lay  back 
in  what  appeared  to  be  her  habitual  condition  of 
amused  semi-somnolence.  She  looked  up  as  the  pair 
of  newcomers  approached,  and  seemed  to  note  their 
association  with  an  increase  of  attention,  which  nar- 
rowed her  pale  eyes  queerly.  Then  lifting  her  eye- 
lids, she  turned  a  glance  upon  Sir  Edward  that  was 
almost  a  question;  one,  however,  to  which  he  gave 
no  perceptible  reply.  There  was  nothing  in  his  face 
to  shew  that  he  had  even  been  aware  of  the  mute 
enquiry.  Smiling  on  the  party,  and  laying  two 
fingers  momentarily  on  Shirley's  forearm,  he  made 
his  apology. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  been  very  selfish  about  Miss  Cress- 
well;  but  it  is  entirely  her  fault.  She  interested 
me  so  much  that  I  was  quite  unconscious  of  the 
length  of  her  captivity.  However  she's  been  very 
good,  and  has  thoroughly  earned  her  release.  .  .  . 
Where's  Gathorne?" 

"Still  in  bed  with  a  dreadful  headache,  poor  fel- 
low !"  Mrs.  Cassilis  replied.  "I  sent  up  to  ask  him 
if  we  could  do  anything  for  him  and  he  said  'no'; 
and  he  was  afraid  he  wouldn't  be  down  for  lunch. 
Such  a  dismal  way  of  passing  a  week-end  in  the 
country!" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        67 

''I'll  go  up  and  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  Sir 
Edward,  without  any  display  of  sympathy  for  the 
sufferer. 

''Do.  He  sent  down  word  that  he  couldn't  see 
anybody ;  but,  of  course,  that  wouldn't  apply  to  you." 

"It  was  probably  aimed  directly  at  me,"  Sir  Ed- 
ward smiled,  "but  I  shall  go,  for  all  that.  He  gives 
way,  on  these  occasions;  lets  himself  go  altogether; 
and  he'll  probably  lie  there  for  two  or  three  days 
starving  and  pitying  himself,  if  I  don't  take  him  in 
hand  firmly.  I  shall  bring  him  down  to  lunch  all 
right — you  see !" 

Still  smiling,  he  wandered  away  towards  the  house, 
his  large,  well  shaped  head  bare  to  the  sun,  his  eyes 
unwinking  in  the  glare.  Magdalen  had  slipped  from 
her  chair  to  the  grass  beside  it,  and  caught  Shirley 
by  the  hand  affectionately. 

"Sit  down  here,"  she  begged,  studying  the  other's 
face  with  half  closed  eyes,  in  which  laughter  and  ad- 
miration seemed  to  be  at  war  with  utter  weariness. 
"What  a  gorgeous  morning!  I  wish  one  never  had 
to  move  again.  May  I  lean  my  head  against  your 
knee,  darling  ?" 

Shirley  agreeing  to  this  arrangement  with  an  ami- 
able lack  of  enthusiasm,  ]\ragdalen  dropped  her  flam- 
ing locks  against  the  white  of  her  friend's  dress, 
with  a  comfortable  sigh.  For  all  her  superficial 
cynicism,  she  seemed  to  have  a  foundation  of  senti- 
mentality to  her  character;  for  by  and  by  the  scar- 


68       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

let  head  turned  slowly  on  the  knee,  and  Shirley,  who 
was  at  the  moment  speaking  to  Joyce,  broke  off  and 
looked  down  with  raised  eyebrows  as  Magdalen 
pressed  her  lips  to  the  hand  which  she  held  in  her 
own.  The  crouching  girl  did  not  lift  her  eyes,  how- 
ever; but,  having  given  this  slow  caress,  fell  back 
with  another  small  sigh  into  her  former  position. 
Shirley  glanced  across  at  Joyce,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing this  pretty  interlude,  and  they  both  smiled,  the 
elder  with  mere  amusement,  the  younger  with  mani- 
fest scorn. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  two  young  -women  encountered  at  the  entry 
of  Delbruck's  in  the  second  week  in  July. 
The  day  was  sadly  overcast,  and  an  occasional  chilly 
breath  of  air  spoke  of  coming  rain;  but  Magdalen 
was  in  festal  array.  Shirley,  on  the  other  hand,  al- 
though as  enviably  clothed  as  became  the  representa- 
tive of  a  noted  firm  of  dressmakers,  had  taken  the 
possibilities  of  the  weather  into  consideration  to  some 
extent. 

"Here  you  are !    What  luck  to  catch  you !" 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Shirley,  submitting  first 
one  cheek  and  then  the  other  to  an  enthusiastic  kiss. 

"Wliere  are  you  off  to  ?" 

"I  was  just  going  out  to  get  something  to  eat." 

"Alone  ?  That's  splendid.  I  flew  down  here  from 
Lord's,  on  a  sudden  inspiration,  to  ask  you  to  lunch 
with  me  and  come  up  to  the  match  afterwards.  My 
young  brother's  playing — Chris ;  I  forget  if  you've 
met  him;  and  I've  got  a  'rover'  ticket  to  spare  for 
you.     Do  say  yes!" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  possibly,"  Shirley  lamented, 
opening  her  eyes  wide.  "I  must  get  back  this  af- 
ternoon." 

"But  that's  ridiculous.  Don't  you  ever  take  a  day 
69 


70       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

off?  Besides,  it's  a  part  of  your  business  duties. 
Lord's  is  one  of  our  chief  dress-parades;  or  so  I'm 
told,  though  I  haven't  seen  anything  there  so  far 
that  would  cause  any  comment  in  the  Brixton  Bon 
Marche.  •Still,  I'm  sure  the  Brooks  would  have 
told  you  to  go  if  they'd  remembered  it.  Is  Emily 
in?     I'll  go  and  explain  matters  to  her." 

"She  isn't;  I'm  in  charge;  and  we've  a  lot  of  ap- 
pointments this  afternoon.  Really !  I'm  awfully 
sorry,  but  I  can't  come." 

"You're  a  little  pig.  What  about  lunch,  then? 
You've  confessed  you  were  going  to  have  that  alone, 
so  you  can't  very  well  get  out  of  it  without  making 
an  enemy  of  me  for  life." 

"But  I  can  only  spare  such  a  very  little  time.  It's 
hardly  worth  it,  is  it?  For  you,  I  mean,"  asked 
Shirley,  looking  up  and  down  the  street  in  a  worried 
manner. 

"I'll  let  you  go  whenever  you  feel  you  must,"  Mag- 
dalen promised,  with  a  flattering  eagerness.  "Where 
do  you  usually  feed?" 

"I  very  often  walk  up  to  Selfridge's.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  there  you  are !  I  can  save  you  some  time. 
Here's  my  taxi  waiting,  and  I  know  a  nearer  place 
than  Selfridge's.     Oh^  be  nice,  Shirley!" 

"Of  course,  I  should  love  to,"  the  other  explained, 
her  troubled  face  relaxing  into  a  politely  grateful  ex- 
pression ;  "if  you  don't  mind  me  running  away  di- 
rectly afterwards." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        71 

"You're  a  nailer  at  dissembling  your  love," 
drawled  Magdalen,  smiling  affectionately  on  the  re- 
calcitrant guest.  "Jump  in!  Go  to  Ann  Toyne's, 
Maddox  Street,"  slie  added,  in  a  new  and  convincing 
Cockney  accent  to  tlie  driver. 

The  man,  apparently  unconscious  of  her  presence 
and  voice,  slammed  the  door  of  the  cab  on  her,  with 
a  backhanded  gesture,  and  put  his  foot  on  the  clutch. 
Magdalen  settled  down  in  her  corner,  and  took  one 
of  Shirley's  gloved  hands  in  her  own. 

"Do  you  know  Antoine's?  It's  quite  good,  and 
it's  quiet.  I  thought  possibly  Edward  Talbot  might 
have  taken  you  there.     It's  one  of  his  haunts." 

"Sir  Edward  ?  I  haven't  seen  him  since  I  stayed 
with  Mrs.  Cassilis;  and  we'd  only  met  once  before 
that,  you  know." 

"Very  odd !  I  made  sure  that  he'd  have  followed 
you  about  like  Mary's  lamb,  these  last  three  weeks. 
He  was  awfully  smitten." 

"He  wasn't/'  Shirley  protested.  "How  can  you 
talk  such  nonsense  ?" 

"Of  course  he  was.  How  could  he  help  being? 
All  Sunday  morning  alone  with  you ;  nearly  an  hour 
after  tea;  and  drove  you  up  to  London  next  day, 
leaving  the  chauffeur  behind!  Yes,  you  may  well 
look  innocent." 

"If  you  could  have  heard  the  improving  things 
we  talked  about !" 

"Oh,  that's  just  the  guile  of  the  creature.     It's 


72       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

only  stupid  men  who  begin  to  flirt  at  once,  and  get 
themselves  put  down  as  triflers.  A  few  geniuses  kiss 
one  on  sight ;  and  of  course  they're  out  and  away  the 
biggest  successes;  but  I  suppose  Edward  thinks  he 
hasn't  got  the  necessary  means  for  that  part.  Be- 
sides, even  the  geniuses  get  snubbed  sometimes ;  and 
he  couldn't  endure  that.  Never  mind!  He'll  get 
more  amusing  before  long." 

"Probably  he's  forgotten  my  very  existence." 

"Because  he's  neglected  you  for  three  weeks? 
Don't  you  believe  it.  I  know  the  great  man.  He 
moves  in  a  mysterious  way,  his  wonders  to  perform. 
Besides,  the  explanation's  suddenly  struck  me. 
Probably  he's  getting  into  his  new  house  in  the  coun- 
try. I  know  it  was  ready,  when  we  were  at  Over- 
bourne.  He  wouldn't  ask  you  to  a  house-warm.ing 
party ;  he'd  prefer  to  get  you  on  some  quieter  occa- 
sion, when  he  could  give  you  more  of  his  atten- 
tion. Oh  yes !  You'll  give  me  news  of  him  before 
long." 

"All  right!"  Shirley  patiently  sighed.  "Only 
please  don't  go  telling  other  people  that  he's  in  love 
with  me.  They'd  be  sure  to  think  that  I  started 
the  idea." 

"Oh  no,  they  wouldn't,"  Magdalen  assured  her, 
covering  her  with  her  pale,  sleepy  eyes,  and  pressing 
her  hand  slightly.  "Everybody's  in  love  with  you; 
young  men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  children. 
However,    I   won't   say   anything.     It   wouldn't  be 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        73 

necessary;  they'd  all  take  it  for  granted.  .  .  .  Here 
we  are!" 

An  orange  tree  in  a  copper-hooped  tub  stood  sen- 
tinel on  either  side  of  Antoine's  doorway,  and  his 
name  appeared  over  the  lintel  in  narrow  gilt  letters, 
a  foot  long;  but  the  proprietor  made  no  further  pub- 
lic appeal.  The  sash  windows  on  the  ground-floor, 
with  their  curtains  of  lace  and  tapestry,  might  well 
have  lighted  the  dining  and  drawing  rooms  of  a  pri- 
vate house.  The  front-door  was  open,  but  no  silver- 
buttoned  commissionaire  guarded  the  entrance. 
Only  a  stout,  grave  man,  in  butler's  undress,  stood  in 
the  aperture,  as  if  refreshing  himself  with  a  breath 
of  air.  This  attendant  ushered  the  two  companions 
down  the  carpeted  passage  to  the  restaurant,  a  fair 
sized  saloon,  occuj^ying  the  entire  width  of  the  build- 
ing, and  capable  of  holding  sixty  or  seventy  guests, 
if  need  be.  The  two  front  rooms  of  this  floor  were 
used  for  waiting  purposes  and  the  reception  of  outer 
wraps;  kitchen,  sculleries  and  dressing  rooms  occu- 
pied the  upper  floors,  so  Magdalen  informed  Shirley, 
while  the  basement  contained  Antoine's  vaunted  stock 
of  wine.  About  a  dozen  lunch-tables  were  occupied, 
chiefly  by  pairs  of  friends;  but  not  all  could  be  seen 
at  one  time,  a  cunning  arrangement  of  palms  and 
folding  screens  securing  a  moderate  privacy  for  those 
who  desired  it.  The  carpet  was  thick,  the  service 
commendably  deliberate  and  noiseless,  and  the  elec- 
tric  lamps   softly   shaded.     The   light    was    almost 


74       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

wholly  artificial,  for  the  four  windows  at  the  back 
of  the  room,  which  presumably,  when  open,  com- 
manded a  view  of  a  yard  or  mews,  were  filled  with 
coloured  glass  set  in  lead  cames.  The  general  effect, 
if  not  actually  equivocal,  was  rather  notably  discreet, 
and  seemed  to  have  its  influence  on  the  company, 
which  conversed,  for  the  most  part  in  confidential 
half-tones.  An  occasional  plainly  audible  phrase  or 
laugh  came  rather  as  a  surprise.  Magdalen  and 
Shirley  found  places  beneath  one  of  the  glowing  win- 
dows. 

"I  come  here  when  I've  got  someone  with  me  that 
I  want  to  talk  to  as  well  as  look  at,"  Magdalen  ex- 
plained. "When  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  them,  I 
go  to  the  Carlton ;  and  when  I  don't  want  to  look  at 
them,  I  go  home  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  bed.  So 
restful !  .  .  .  You'll  have  a  Bron  first,  darling, 
won't  you  ?     Honestly  ?    I  will,  then." 

When  the  cocktail  was  set  before  her,  she  lighted 
a  cigarette,  and  began  to  study  the  bill  of  fare  idly. 

"Shall  I  order?     I  think  it's  such  a  tedious  job." 

"Yes,  will  you  ?" 

"What  sort  of  thing  do  you  like?  Are  you  hun- 
gry?" 

"Not  frightfully.     Anything  that  sounds  nice." 

A  swarthy  young  waiter  in  black  livery,  with  knee- 
breeches  and  white  cotton  gloves,  stood  silently  at 
Magdalen's  elbow,  awaiting  her  commands,  but  the 
fact  did  not  flurry  her  in  any  way. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        75 

"I'm  simply  ravenous.  We  breakfasted  at  nine — 
we're  down  at  Hackhurst  now,  you  know.  Oh,  didn't 
you  ?  Yes ;  Phillimore  Gardens  is  shut  up  till  Octo- 
ber. So  stupid  of  mother  to  insist  on  going  down 
just  a  week  before  Lord's;  or,  rather,  inconsiderate, 
because  she  didn't  want  to  go  to  the  match,  though 
she  knew  I  did.  I  had  to  leave  the  house  before 
ten.  Chris  wouldn't  forgive  me  if  I  turned  up  late, 
dear  old  boy !" 

At  the  momentary  pause  in  her  remarks,  the  waiter 
broke  in,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  mystery,  and  bending 
his  gleaming  head  low  towards  her. 

"You  like-a  to  start  off  with  some  Cantalupo 
melon  ?" 

"It  was  quite  cold,  coming  up,"  Magdalen  con- 
tinued, deaf  to  the  suggestion,  "and  I've  been  sitting 
in  the  Mound  Stand  all  the  morning;  so  you  can 
imagine  if  I  want  my  lunch.  .  .  .  Well,  what  about 
some  melon,  my  child  ?  You're  sure  you  like  that  ? 
Or  liors  d'oeuvre  ?  They've  rather  a  pretty  fancy  in 
hors  d'oeuvre  here.  Melon  you  think's  nicer  ?  Yes, 
I  do  too,  really.  .  .  .  What  fish?  Or  would  you 
rather  have  an  omelette?  I  think  they're  the  most 
filthy  compounds.  Do  have  one!  They  can  make 
you  quite  a  little-y  one,  all  for  yourself." 

"Omelette  aux  rognons?  Wiz  some  kittanies  in- 
side?" the  serv^ant  insinuated. 

"My  dear  man,  don't  talk!"  protested  Magdalen. 
"How  can  I  possibly  think  while  you're  talking  ?    No, 


76       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

we  don't  want  any  kittens.  Fines  herhes.  .  .  . 
What  did  I  order  for  myself  ?" 

The  labour  completed,  and  a  grey-haired  dignitary 
having  been  sent  in  quest  of  a  bottle  of  Sauterne, 
Magdalen  swallowed  her  cocktail,  put  her  elbows  on 
the  table,  and  sighed  with  the  air  of  one  who  has 
aspired  and  achieved. 

"Prize  Gawd  thet's  done!"  she  said  piously.  "I 
say,  it's  ripping  having  you  here.  I  hope  you're  en- 
joying it  too  ?" 

"Of  course  I  am.  I  like  this  place;  it  feels  so 
wicked.  I  wonder  why.  I  suppose  because  it's 
so  very  quiet,  and  smells  of  lilies,  and  the  waiters 
have  such  blue  faces.  .  .  .  Are  you  going  back  to  the 
country  to-night,  did  you  say?  What  time  does 
the  cricket  stop  ?" 

"Oh,  it  goes  on  for  two  solid  days,  you  know,  un- 
less a  riot  sets  in,  Chris  says.  In  which  case,  no 
doubt,  all  fastidious  people  would  leave  at  once.  .  .  . 
Yes,  I'm  bound  to  go  back,  because  all  the  hotels  in 
London  are  chock-full ;  but  it's  an  awful  grind,  hav- 
ing to  come  up  again  to-morrow." 

"Can't  you  shirk  it  ?" 

"My  dear !  And  perhaps  miss  seeing  Chris  win 
the  match  by  making  a  century  or  doing  the  hat- 
trick?  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  what  doing  the 
hat-trick  is.  It  sounds  the  sort  of  sport  that  circus 
clowns  engage  in ;  but  it's  constantly  taking  place  in 
cricket,  I  know.     Besides,  I  don't  want  to  shirk. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        77 

No,  I  must  face  another  early  breakfast,  and  the 
rigours  of  the  road.  Who'd  be  a  sister  ?  But  Chris 
is  such  an  angel-lamb!" 

Shirley  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  contemplated 
such  lunch-parties  as  were  visible.  At  a  neighbour- 
ing table,  a  stout  moustached  man  of  middle  age  sat 
opposite  a  slim,  fair  boy.  Both  were  dressed  in 
the  extreme  of  fashion,  and  their  meal,  which  they 
attacked  in  silence,  was  a  complex  one,  judging  by 
the  array  of  bottles  and  dishes.  As  Shirley  turned 
her  head  towards  them,  the  boy  laid  down  his  knife 
and  fork  and  stared  at  her  intently.  His  compan- 
ion, attracted  by  this  sudden  immobility,  followed 
the  direction  of  his  eyes,  and  frowned  when  he  dis- 
covered what  the  object  of  interest  was.  The  girl 
inmiediately  transferred  her  attention  to  a  table 
straight  in  front  of  her,  where  a  man  and  woman, 
both  of  Southern  appearance,  were  murmuring  in- 
audibly  to  each  other,  their  faces  as  close  together 
as  the  width  of  the  table  would  permit. 

"More  incendiarism!"  commented  Magdalen,  in 
her  languid  drawl.  "That's  boy's  spell-bound.  I'm 
sure  I'm  not  surprised;  you  look  too  ducky  in  that 
demure  little  frock.  If  I  was  a  man,  I  should  be 
getting  my  lugger  round  to  Port  of  London  to- 
day." 

"Oh,  boys  of  that  age  always  stare  at  every 
woman  in  sight.  It  shews  what  dogs  they  are.  His 
father  didn't  seem  io  approve  of  his  goings-on." 


78       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

While  she  was  speaking,  Magdalen  watched  her 
slyly,  between  narrowed  eyelids;  and,  when  she 
ceased,  gave  a  short,  odd  laugh. 

''No.  .  .  .  Jealous,  no  doubt." 

"That  poor  old  thing,  too  ?  You  are  silly,"  replied 
Shirley  genuinely  amused. 

The  waiter  putting  two  vast  crescents  of  melon 
before  them  at  this  point,  and  adding  silver  castors, 
she  was  free  for  a  few  seconds  to  continue  her  dis- 
coveries. Her  eyebrows  suddenly  lifted  and  her 
lips  slightly  parted;  and,  when  the  servant  had  re- 
tired, she  leaned  towards  Magdalen,  and  spoke  in  a 
lowered  voice. 

"I  say!  I  believe  Sir  Edward  Talbot  is  sitting 
at  the  second  table  behind  you,  with  another  man. 
You  can  just  see  him,  now  and  then,  through  the 
palm-leaves." 

"Tell  me  when  to  look !"  Magdalen  did  not  seem 
best  pleased  at  this  encounter.  "Yes,  that's  Edward, 
all  right ;  and  Gathorne's  with  him.  Don't  catch  his 
eye,  if  you  can  help  it.  We  don't  want  him  coming 
over  here  and  monopolising  the  conversation.  You'll 
have  plenty  of  him  before  long,  you  may  be  sure; 
and  very  likely  I  shan't  have  a  chance  of  talking  to 
you  alone  again  before  the  middle  of  October.  You 
don't  mind,  darling?" 

"Not  a  bit.  I  don't  care  much  for  three-handed 
conversations.  The  other  two  always  talk  to  each 
other,  and  I  get  left  out  in  the  cold.  .  .  .  He  isn't 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        79 

likely  to  see  us,  unless  he  leaves  before  us.  He's 
quite  hidden  from  me,  except  when  he's  sitting  right 
back,  like  that,  and  I'm  leaning  sideways,  to  look 
round  you.'' 

"So  you  haven't  lost  your  heart  to  him  yet  ?" 

"To  Sir  Edward  ?  I  thought  him  very  interesting 
and  nice,  but  not  in  that  way  at  all." 

"He'd  be  flattered  to  hear  you.  And  yet  I  don't 
suppose  he'd  care,  really.  He  can  get  most  women 
to  think  of  him  in  that  way,  if  he  wants  to." 

"I  can  quite  imagine,"  agreed  Shirley,  in  polite 
ellipsis.     "But  not  me." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  during  which  Magdalen 
once  more  seemed  to  be  scrutinising  her  friend's  sen- 
sitive and  faintly  coloured  face. 

"]^or  me.  I'm  not  awfully  interested  in  that  sort 
of  thing,  are  you  ?" 

A  slight   shake  of  the  head  was  all  the  reply. 

"Men  become  so  disgusting,  somehow,  when  they 
begin  to  make  love.  Of  course,  on  paper,  Romeo 
and  Cyrano  said  some  ripping  things ;  but  probably 
even  they  had  nasty  red  faces  and  hot  eyes  while  they 
were  saying  them ;  and  most  men  only  have  the  faces 
and  eyes,  without  the  silver  tongues.  Edward's  never 
tried  his  fascinations  on  me.  He'd  see  at  once  that 
it  was  a  waste  of  time  and  trouble.  Or  perhaps  he 
didn't  want  to  ?  I  never  thought  of  that.  .  .  .  Still, 
he's  a  thrilling  creature." 

"You  mean  his  ideas  are  thrilling  ?" 


80       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Partly  that.  Or,  rather,  it's  one's  own  ideas — 
which  one  didn't  know  one  had  until  he  drew  them 
up  to  the  surface — that  are  so  engrossing." 

"I  thought  he  seemed  very  kind  and  sympathetic." 

"Oh,  that  be  blowed !  He  isn't  one  of  the  brothers 
Cheeryble ;  he's  a  gigantic  egoist — the  completest  that 
ever  lived,  I  believe.  And,  like  all  egoists,  he  must 
pass  on  his  opinions,  or  bust.  He  can't  keep  them 
corked  up.  Kind,  sympathetic  people  are  only  per- 
nicious; they  encourage  you  to  gTovel  and  snivel — 
strew  cushions  before  you,  and  lend  you  hankies. 
All  clear  thinkers  are  as  cold  as  this  melon  and 
harder  (I'm  not  going  to  pay  for  it)  and  so's  Ed- 
ward. If  you're  looking  for  someone  to  mingle  your 
tears  with,  you  might  as  well  try  to  snuggle  up  with 
the  Matterhom.  But  if  you  want  to  know  how  to 
stop  them,  he's  the  boy." 

Although  Shirley's  face  shewed  no  great  convic- 
tion that  this  estimate  of  his  character  was  a  true 
one,  she  did  not  dispute  the  point. 

"He's  really  made  you  happier  ?" 

"I  was  happy  before  I  ever  heard  of  him.  I  never 
went  in  much  for  low  spirits.  But  since  I've  known 
him  well.  ...  Oh  yes !" 

She  had  plainly  been  going  to  say  more ;  but,  be- 
fore speaking  the  last  two  words,  she  broke  off  unex- 
pectedly, the  enthusiasm  that  was  beginning  to  light 
1  r>  her  calm  face  faded,  and  she  momentarily  closed 
.hor  eyes,  with  a  faint  shiver,  suggestive  of  a  disgusted 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        81 

realisation  of  her  unwonted  want  of  reticence.  When 
she  completed  the  sentence,  she  became  as  lazily  cyni- 
cal as  usual. 

''You're  great  friends  with  him,  aren't  you  ?"  en- 
quired Shirley,  beginning  to  eat  her  omelette. 

"We  were  pretty  thick  for  a  time;  but  we  don't 
meet  very  often  now.     I  don't  need  him  any  more." 

"How  cruel  of  you !  How  do  you  know  he  doesn't 
need  you  ?" 

"He  ?  He  doesn't  need  anybody.  So  long  as  they 
find  a  use  for  him,  they  interest  him.  The  moment 
they  don't,  they  cease  to  exist  for  him,  except  as 
part  of  the  landscape." 

The  statement  had  the  eifect  of  silencing  Shirley 
for  a  while;  and  her  eyes  were  thoughtful.  When 
she  spoke  again,  she  hesitated  over  her  choice  of 
words. 

"Suppose  a  person  asked  him  to — asked  his  advice 
about  things  in  general,  you  know ;  and  didn't  like  it 
— wasn't  inclined  to  take  it,  I  mean,  after  all.  Do 
you  think  he's  the  sort  of  man  who'd  be  offended — 
who'd  try  to  argue.  .  .  .  ?" 

"You  needn't  be  discreet,  darling,"  said  Magdalen, 
coming  to  her  rescue,  and  sliding  a  thin  hand,  on 
which  a  large  acquamarine  gleamed  coolly,  across  the 
table-cloth,  to  press  her  friend's  pale  fingers.  "Ed- 
ward's offered  to  experiment  on  you,  now — I  knew  he 
had,  down  at  Overbourne ;  it  was  perfectly  obvious — 
and  you're  afraid  of  letting  yourself  in  for  some- 


82       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

tiling  tedious  that  you  won't  be  able  to  get  clear  of 
without  unpleasantness.  Dion't  be  alarmed.  He'd 
no  more  dream  of  pestering  you  with  unwanted  ad- 
vice than  he  would  of  making  love  to  a  woman  who 
didn't  enjoy  it — not  even  if  it  was  you.  Why  should 
he  bother  ?  He'd  have  no  difficulty  in  booking  him- 
self up,  a  year  or  two  in  advance,  for  any  part  that 
he  fancied  would  amuse  him." 

"You  make  him  out  quite  a  dangerous  character," 
said  Shirley  laughing.     "How  old  is  he?" 

"Oh,  no  age !    Does  he  strike  you  as  an  old  man  ?" 

"N^ot  old,  no;  but  very  dignified.  I  couldn't  be- 
lieve Joyce  Cassilis  when  she  told  me  that  he  used 
to  try  to  make  love  to  her.  It  seemed  so  utterly 
unlike  him — as  I  saw  him — to  be  running  after  a 
little  thing  of  fifteen.  I  thought  it  was  just  a  de- 
lusion of  hers;  in  fact,  something  he  said  to  me 
seemed  to  prove  it  was.  But  perhaps  there  was  some- 
thing in  it  after  all.     What  do  you  think  ?" 

"Quite  likely,"  said  Magdalen,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  "She's  pretty  enough ;  but  so  frightfully 
Philistine  that  nobody  of  any  intelligence  would  be 
able  to  stick  her  long." 

"Oh,  I  think  she's  a  dear." 

"Do  you  really  ?  I  tried  to,  for  a  time.  But  that 
manner!  Can  you  imagine  regarding  her  in  a  ro- 
mantic light  ?" 

"Lots  of  men  do.     She  goes  very  well." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        83 

"Soldier  boys  and  so  on;  yes,  it's  a  fact.  But  I 
don't  understand  it.  Captain  Corrie  told  me  once 
that  he'd  as  soon  think  of  kissing  a  naval  Master-at- 
arms  as  Joyce;  and,  according  to  him,  they're  not 
what  you  might  call  sentimentalists.  However,  some 
people  enjoy  being  rolled  in  the  mud.  The  more  you 
insult  them,  the  more  fascinating  they  think  you. 
Personally  I  like  girls  to  be  awfully  feminine — other 
girls,  anyhow.  That's  what  makes  you  so  irresistr 
ible." 

"Joyce  has  got  a  boyish  manner,"  Shirley  began, 
in  defence  of  her  absent  friend. 

"I  never  could  see  that  she  had  any  manners  at 
all,"  Magdalen  objected;  but  before  the  argument 
could  proceed  any  further,  a  loud  voice  broke  across 
the  hushed  murmur  of  the  room. 

"I'm  damned  if  I  do.  .  .  .  I'm  damned  if  I  do." 

Shirley  started  violently ;  Magdalen  looked  quickly 
over  her  shoulder ;  and  the  two  foreigners  at  the  next 
table  were  also  screwing  their  heads  in  the  direction 
of  this  sudden  outcry. 

"I'll  see  you  damned,"  the  voice  went  on,  in  a 
gabble  of  fury.  "ISTo  more !  I'm  fed  with  the  whole 
damned  thing.  ...  I  won't  be  quiet.  You  be 
damned !  Who  are  you  to  tell  me  to  be  quiet  ?  I'm 
damned  if  I'll  be  quiet." 

With  the  harsh  rush  of  angry  words,  complete 
silence  fell  on  the  assembly.     Such  of  the  lunchers 


84       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

as  could  be  seen  were  all  staring  the  same  way,  some 
perturbed,  some  faintly  smiling,  some  in  offended 
protest.  Magdalen  turned  back  towards  Shirley  and 
raised  her  eyebrows  in  amused  curiosity. 

"Hullo !"  she  said  softly.  "  'Ark  tx>  our  Gathorne ! 
What's  gone  wrong  with  him  ?" 

"Is  that  Mr.  Burrell  ?" 

As  Magdalen  nodded,  Gathome's  voice  broke  out 
afresh. 

"Yes,  you  did!  Yes,  you  did!  It's  a  damned 
lie  .  .  .  you  did!" 

Ten,  twenty  seconds  of  noiseless  calm  succeeded, 
and  then  the  subdued  murmur  of  conversation,  a 
trifle  increased  in  vivacity,  and  the  faint  tinkle  of 
glass  and  silver,  filled  the  room  once  more.  Sir  Ed- 
ward's voice  had  been  wholly  inaudible  during  the 
short  controversy.  Magdalen  looked  at  her  compan- 
ion's face,  which  had  blushed  brightly  at  the  first 
sound  of  Burrell's  wrath,  and  immediately  after- 
wards turned  white. 

"Why,  you  were  quite  frightened,  darling,"  she 
said,  laughing  with  a  sort  of  tenderness. 

"I  thought — I  was  afraid  there  was  going  to  be  a 
row." 

"Oh,  nobody  would  dare  to  have  a  row  with  Ed- 
ward ;  and  Gathorne  must  be  drunk  to  cheek  him  as 
much  as  he  did.  But  you  see  Edward's  suppressed 
him  already ;  unless  he  accidentally  dammed  the  flow 
of  his  own  eloquence." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        85 

"I  do  hope  he  isn't  drunk.  I  hate  drunken 
people." 

"He  pretty  often  is,  these  times.  But  don't  you 
worry.  He's  in  good  hands;  he  won't  be  allowed 
to  make  himself  a  bore.  .  .  .  I've  been  expecting 
something  of  this  sort,  for  some  time  now." 

"Why?     I  thought  they  were  such  friends." 

"So  they  are,  or  were.  Edward's  as  fond  of  him 
as  he  is  capable  of  being  of  anybody.  They  were  al- 
ways together  for  a  year  or  so.  But  Gathorne's 
rather  a  fool.  He  overdoes  everything.  When  he's 
trivial,  he  puts  in  as  much  work  at  playing  the  goat 
as  if  he'd  got  to  complete  a  contract  against  time ;  and 
when  he's  virtuous,  which  he  is  in  patches,  despite  all 
efforts  to  keep  him  straight,  he  takes  himself  as  seri- 
ously as  Jeremiah." 

" Jere-wi-ah  ?"  repeated  Shirley,  with  the  faintly 
frowning  glance  at  the  ceiling  which  often  accom- 
panies an  effort  to  fit  a  face  and  personality  to  a 
familiar  name. 

"So  naturally  he  knocks  his  nerves  to  pieces.  He 
looks  pretty  washed-out,  and  he's  got  a  perfect  genius 
for  getting  himself  into  hot  water.  ...  If  you  take 
a  doctor's  advice,  you  must  take  it  whole,  mustn't 
you  ?  You  must  follow  it  more  or  less  closely.  If  he 
prescribes  a  dose  of  digitalis,  it's  unreasonable  to 
drink  it  out  of  tumblers  every  day  for  lunch,  and 
then  blame  him  if  it  makes  you  feel  cheap.  Or  if  he 
recommends  'a  light  diet,  you're  wrong  in  supposing 


86        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

that  he  means  you  to  go  without  food  for  a  fortnight, 
and  then  try  to  balance  things  by  overeating  for  a 
week." 

"What  doctor  does  he  go  to  ?" 

"1  don't  think  he's  ever  been  to  one  in  his  life, 
so  far.  But,  if  he  goes  on  like  this,  he'll  need  the 
services  of  two,  and  a  certificate.  .  .  .  What  would 
you  like  after  that  noisette,  Shirley  ?" 

"I  couldn't  eat  anything  else,  truly,  thanks  very 
much.     Besides,  I  must  be  getting  back  directly." 

"Oh,  not  yet.  Have  a  zabajone?  They  make 
them  rather  well.  Just  ten  minutes  more  ...  do ! 
I  ought  to  be  going  too,  then." 

"Really  ten  minutes,  then,"  Shirley  stipulated. 

"In  which  case,  coffee,  Giulio,"  Magdalen  told  the 
waiter.  "No,  don't  describe  puddings  to  us. 
Coffee,  like  lightning,  and  some  yellow  Char- 
treuse. Will  that  suit  you,  darling?  No  liqueur? 
Yellow  Chartreuse,  then;  and  the  bill,  at  the  same 
time." 

She  handed  her  cigarette  case  to  Shirley;  and, 
blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke  herself,  stared  into  her 
friend's  eyes. 

"I  say !  An  idea's  just  occurred  to  me.  I  wonder 
if  you'd  be  an  angel-child,  and  do  me  a  favour." 

"What's  that?" 

"Put  me  up  for  the  night.  I  do  shy  at  the  idea 
of  the  journey  to  Hackhurst  and  back.  I  don't 
want  any  meals.     You  can  come  and  dine  with  me 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        87 

somewhere ;  and  I  only  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

The  proposal  did  not  seem  to  appeal  to  the  other 
girl,  who  replied  with  a  troubled  politeness. 

"I'm  so  sorry.  I've  got  such  tiny  rooms — just 
my  bedroom  and  sitting-room  and  the  kitchen.  I 
really  haven't  got  a  comer  for  a  guest." 

"My  dear,  I'm  not  a  guest.  I  can  double  up  with 
you,  or  sleep  on  a  sofa,  or  anything.  .  .  .  Oh,  don't 
be  formal,  Shirley !  It'd  be  such  a  lark.  We  could 
go  to  a  theatre,  or  I'd  get  you  into  Murray's.  Say 
yes,  there's  a  darling !    I'll  be  eternally  grateful." 

A  conciliatory  stubbornness  took  possession  of 
Shirley's  face. 

"I  would  if  I  could,  really;  but,  you  see,  I've  had 
the  most  awful  job  to  get  a  servant.  Three  de- 
serted me  in  a  fortnight,  before  this  girl  came 
along;  and  she  looks  like  staying — she's  been  with 
me  nearly  a  month.  But  I  told  her,  when,  I  en- 
gaged her,  that  I  never  had  guests,  except  perhaps 
one  to  tea  or  dinner,  once  in  a  way.  .  .  ." 

"But  I  shouldn't  make  any  extra  work.  In  fact, 
I'll  help  her  to  make  the  bed,  if  she  likes." 

"Yes,  but  you  know  what  servants  are,  this  last 
year  or  two.  I'm  sure  she'd  walk  straight  out  of 
the  place;  and  I  really  can't  face  looking  for 
another  yet." 

"Give  her  an  evening  off  then,  and  I'll  do  the 
housework,"  urged  Magdalen;  and  Shirley,  looking 


88       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

supremely  uncomfortable,  shewed  signs  of  surrender ; 
but  just  then  the  voice  of  Gathorne  came  to  her 
aid. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  It  wasn't  her  at 
all,  and  you  know  damned  well  it  wasn't.  ...  It 
was  a  damned  dirty  trick.  .  .  .  Oh,  go  to  Hell ! 
I'm  off;  I've  had  quite  enough  of  you." 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  chair  colliding  with 
a  screen,  as  the  speaker  thrust  it  away  from  him, 
and  of  a  glass  knocked  into  a  plate.  The  head- 
waiter  hurried  to  the  table,  and  the  murmur  of 
Sir  Edward's  voice  could  be  faintly  heard. 

"There!  Take  for  my  lunch  out  of  that!"  cried 
Gathorne  loudly;  and  the  next  moment  he  stormed 
past  the  table  at  which  the  two  girls  were  sitting, 
cannoned  lightly  off  a  dumb-waiter,  and  disappeared 
through  the  door.  His  face  was  as  white  as  paper, 
and  his  eyes  blazed;  but  he  shewed  no  other  signs 
of  intoxication.  For  a  few  moments  the  maitre 
d'hotel  remained  in  subdued  colloquy  with  Sir  Ed- 
ward. 

"Thank  goodness  he's  gone!"  Shirley  said,  catch- 
ing her  breath.     "What  an  awful  temper  he  was  in !" 

She  laughed  nervously  as  she  met  Magdalen's  eyes ; 
but  the  other  preserved  an  immovable  countenance. 

"Then  you  won't  ?"  she  persisted,  returning  to  the 
subject  of  the  interrupted  discussion. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry.  I  really  dam't  risk  it.  But 
I  tell  you  what,"  hastOy  added  Shirley,  avoiding 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        89 

Magdalen's  sullen  gaze,  "why  not  ask  Emily  Brook  ? 
They've  heaps  of  room  at  Bloomsbury  Square; 
enough  for  a  regiment.  I  can  telephone  her  up  for 
you,  if  you  haven't  time,  and.  .  .  ." 

"I'm  not  going  to  stay  with  Emily.  I  can't 
stand  her,"  Magdalen  answered  crossly.  "I  think 
you're  beastly,  Shirley." 

Under  the  imputation  of  bestiality,  Shirley  again 
faltered;  but  at  this  moment  Sir  Edward,  on  his 
leisurely  way  out  of  the  restaurant,  perceived  his  two 
acquaintances,  and  approached  their  table.  In  his 
placid  face  and  pleased  half-smile  of  greeting  there 
was  no  memory  of  the  quarrel  which  had  recently 
been  thrust  upon  him. 

"How  do  you  do.  Miss  Cresswell  ?  It's  very 
nice  to  see  you  again.  I  have  been  trying  to  find 
time  to  call  on  you,  for  the  last  three  weeks;  but 
fate's  been  against  me.  Well,  Magdalen.  .  .  . 
You've  been  quarrelling,  I  see." 

"Oh,  no!"  Shirley  earnestly  cried. 

"And  so  have  I,  as  I'm  afraid  you  heard.  I  hope 
that  your  estrangement  is  not  final,  as  ours  was,  so 
Gathorne  informed  me.  What  a  noise  he  made 
about  it,  too,  didn't  he?  Curious  fellow!  .  .  . 
Magdalen,  I  can't  think  you  mean  to  be  implacable 
towards  such  a  sensitive  person  as  Miss  Cresswell," 

The  red-haired  girl  had  already  recovered  her 
weary  smile,  and  added  to  it  a  new  touch  of  easy- 
going contempt. 


90        THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Oh,  reassure  yourself,  Edward;  there's  no  harm 
done.  I  haven't  anywhere  in  London  to  sleep  to- 
night, and  I  thought  Shirley  might  give  me  a  shake 
down;  but  she's  afraid  of  her  skivvy;  so  I  shall 
have  to  get  back  to  the  country,  after  all.  I'm  up 
for  Eton  and  Harrow,  you  know.  .  .  .  Shirley  dear, 
if  you  really  won't  come  to  Lord's  with  me — you 
won't  do  anj'thing  to-day — shall  I  drop  you  at  the 
shop  on  my  way?" 

'^That  would  be  awfully  nice  of  you,"  Shirley 
replied  with  eager  contrition. 

"But  I  was  just  going  to  ask  Miss  Cresswell  if 
she'd  stroll  there  with  me,"  Sir  Edward  interposed, 
his  eyes  on  Magdalen's.  "I  very  much  want  a 
word  or  two  with  her,  if  she  could  spare  me  a  few 
minutes." 

Shirley  looked  at  her  entertainer  for  permission 
to  agree;  and  Magdalen  withdrew  her  claims  with 
perfect  amiability.  Any  disappointment  that  she 
might  have  felt  at  Shirley's  refusal  of  hospitality  had 
passed  away,  to  all  appearance,  as  rapidly  as  it  came. 
She  received  thanks  for  her  entertainment  with  the 
friendliest  protests,  kissed  her  guest  fondly,  and,  as 
she  drove  away,  continued  to  wave  her  hand  as  long 
as  she  was  in  sight.  Sir  Edward's  face  softened 
into  an  amused  sympathy  with  this  maidenly  tender- 
ness. 

"A  pretty,  attractive  creature — Magdalen,"  ^e 
ruminated  as  he  paced  along,  by  Shirley's  side,  to- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       91 

wards  South  Molton  Street,  "but,  I  suspect,  a  little 
exuberant  for  your  taste." 

"I'm  not  much  given  to  hugging  and  kissing  my 
friends,"  Shirley  confessed.  "I  suppose  I've  got  a 
hard  nature;  anyhow,  it  makes  me  feel  uncomfor- 
tably shy,  particularly  in  public.  But  she's  very 
kind  and  nice  to  me — I  really  can't  think  why;  for 
we've  only  met  a  few  times,  and  I  can  never  think 
of  anything  to  say  to  her.  And  she  has  heaps  of 
clever  friends,  and  is  clever  herself." 

"Personalities  take  hold  of  us,  quite  apart  from 
any  intellectual  affinity,"  Sir  Edward  abstractedly 
remarked.  "I  myself  enjoyed  an  idyllic  friendship 
of  some  months,  when  I  was  only  a  few  years  younger 
than  I  am  now,  with  a  young  Frenchwoman  who 
waited  in  a  small  restaurant  in  Charleston.  She 
was  a  strong,  square-shouldered,  thick-ankled  girl, 
with  a  pale,  oval  face — placid  and  kind,  but  by  no 
means  beautiful — ^and  two  queer  dark  corkscrew  curls 
dangling  at  her  cheeks.  She  knew  nothing  and  had 
no  conversation.  I  was  very  fond  of  her.  .  .  .  Poor 
Rose!  .  .  .  You  have  my  full  permission  to  laugh. 
Miss  Cresswell.  As  you  see,  I  am  hardly  the  type  of 
man  that  makes  a  habit  of  flirting  with  servants  and 
barmaids." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  laugh.  I  think  it  was 
nice." 

"Most  of  us  feel  at  times  the  need  of  somebody 
or  something  to  sentimentalise  over  a  little,  however 


92       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

unsentimental  we  may  ordinarily  be.  Magdalen  has 
no  sister,  no  intimate  girl-friend,  I  fancy ;  not  even 
a  cat  or  a  dog.  She  might,  of  course,  have  a  lover, 
if  she  chose;  but  that  is  not  the  same  thing.  So 
she  has  made  a  little  niche  for  the  reception  of  your 
image.  I  should  say  that  it  is  likely  to  remain 
empty,  however.  .  .  .  And  how  have  you  been  get- 
ting on?  Have  you  thought  any  more  of  our  talk 
in  the  grove  of  Silvanus  ?" 

"Often." 

"Are  you  still  in  the  same  state  of  mind?  Am 
I  to  be  allowed  to  help  you?" 

"It's  very  kind  of  you." 

"No  kinder  than  for  a  doctor  to  take  up  a  case." 

"But  he  gets  paid  for  it." 

"!N^ot  necessarily;  and  in  any  case,  if  he's  worthy 
of  the  style  of  doctor  at  all,  the  essence  of  his  pleasure 
lies  in  the  cure  and  not  the  fee.  For  that  matter,  I 
shall  be  paid,  and  overpaid,  by  the  privilege  of  your 
company." 

The  girl  laughed  at  the  compliment,  but  blushed 
a  little  at  the  same  time.  Sir  Edward  smiled  good- 
humouredly. 

"You  think  me  dreadfully  old-fashioned;  and  I 
myself,  notice  a  tendency  to  a  sort  of  ponderous 
formality  in  my  speech.  I  think  it  must  be  an 
unintentional  reaction  from  the  brutality  of  manner 
which  most  of  our  young  Englishmen  have  prided 
themselves  on  during  the  last  few  years.     I  must 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        93 

try  to  strike  a  mediiun.  Meanwhile,  we  are  to  be 
friends,  I  hope." 

''I  should  like  to  be." 

"Good!  And,  to  begin  with,  shall  we  clear  a 
tiresome  obstruction  to  intimacy  out  of  the  way, 
and  agree  to  call  each  other  by  our  Christian  names  ?" 

''All  right;  but  I'm  sure  I  shan't  be  able  to 
think  of  you  as  anything  but  Sir  Edward." 

"How  very  discouraging !  One  feels  quite  senile. 
Well,  Shirley,  you  must  please  yourself  about  that. 
Whatever  comes  naturally  to  you  will  be  what  I 
prefer.  And  here  is  Delbruck's,  where  I  suppose  I 
must  say  good-bye.     When  can  we  have  a  long  talk  ?" 

"Will  you  come  to  tea,  some  Saturday  or  Sun- 
day, about  half  past  four?  Or  are  you  going  out 
of  London  again  at  once?" 

"I  shall  be  vp  and  down  .  .  .  Saturday  is  nearer 
than  Sunday.  May  I  come  then  ?  Yes,  I  have  your 
address.  And  then  we'll  take  the  thing  in  hand 
seriously." 

"I'm  sure  I  shall  befvery  interested." 

"I  think  you  will ;  and,  if  you  are,  I  can  guarantee 
that  you'll  be  immeasurably  happier.  Till  Satur- 
day, then." 

Shirley  nodded  pleasantly  and  vanished  into  the 
gloom  of  the  private  entrance;  while  Sir  Edward, 
settling  his  hat  with  a  slight  shake  of  the  head,  re- 
traced his  steps,  in  gi-ave  thought,  towards  Bond 
(Street. 


CHAPTER  V 

OUTSIDE,  in  the  hall,  a  meditative  clock  quietly 
recorded  the  hour  of  seven;  and  Shirley 
checked  its  accuracy  with  a  glance  at  her  watch- 
bracelet. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  go  before 
long,"  she  said.  "You  won't  mind,  will  you  ?  I'm 
going  out  to  dinner,  and  I  shall  have  to  dress  pretty 
soon." 

Sir  Edward  lay  on  a  low  divan  beside  the  fire, 
watching  Shirley  with  his  expressionless  eyes,  as 
she  sat  in  her  arm-chair  beside  the  small  tea-table, 
her  feet  tucked  under  her.  Upright  on  its  haunches, 
with  its  fore-paws  touching  the  fender,  a  sleek  tabby 
cat  stared  unwinkingly  into  the  dancing  flames. 

The  room  was  of  no  great  size,  plainly  and  sparely 
furnished,  its  walls  hung  with  a  patternless  paper  of 
an. indeterminate  blue-grey.  There  were  no  pictures, 
pottery,  polished  brass  or  silver ;  no  piano ;  not  even 
a  clock  on  the  mantel,  which  bore  no  more  than  a  card- 
board box  of  cigarettes,  and  a  few  other  trifles  of 
daily  use  which  seemed  to  have  found  their  way  there 
by  accident.  But  the  carpets  on  the  floor  and  the 
divan,  the  heavy  curtains  which  hid  the  window, 
the  shawls  which  covered  the  two  easy-chairs,  and 

94 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        95 

Shirley's  own  robe  of  Ciiinese  embroidery,  smoul- 
dered and  flamed  with  colour,  and  told  of  a  passion 
for  splendid  fabrics,  thrown  up  against  an  austere 
background.  The  effect  produced  was  agreeably  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  other  London  middle-class  draw- 
ing-rooms, with  their  shiny  furniture,  gleaming  mir- 
rors and  photograph-frames,  trivial  German  china, 
negligible  water-colour  drawings,  and  more  or  less 
unclean  and  crumpled  hangings  and  cretonnes.  On 
the  writing-flap  of  an  open  bureau  there  was  a  por- 
celain bowl  of  big  yellow  chrysanthemums. 

The  man  shifted  lazily  on  his  couch,  for  the  air 
was  drowsy  with  silence,  tobacco-smoke  and  the 
warmth  of  the  chuckling  fire. 

"At  once  ?" 

"Oh  no !  Ten  minutes,  or  quarter  of  an  hour. 
That'll  give  me  time  enough." 

"I  was  hoping  you  were  free  for  dinner.  I've 
hardly  seen  you,  this  last  week.  Where  are  you  din- 
ing?" 

"With  Joyce." 

"Joyce?  .  .  .  Put  her  off,  and  spend  the  evening 
with  me." 

"I  can't  very  well.  She's  alone  to-night.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Cassilis  are  going  out;  and  I  promised  her 
I'd  come,  three  or  four  days  ago." 

"Yes  ?     You're  often  with  her,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Fairly  often." 

"WTiat  do  you  see  in  her,  if  one  may  ask  ?" 


96       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"See  in  her  ?  She's  talkative  and  funny  and  cheer- 
ful, and  she  likes  me." 

"And  that's  all?" 

"What  else  does  one  see  in  people  ?"  asked  Shirley, 
laughing.  "Of  course,  I  know  that  you  want  your 
friends  to  be  clever.  But  then  you're  clever  your- 
self, and  I'm  not.  Hilarious  idiocy's  good  enough 
for  me ;  not  that  Joyce  is  idiotic,  by  a  long  way,  ex- 
cept when  she  chooses  to  be.  She's  got  twice  my 
brains." 

"Yet  you  and  I  are  friends." 

"Yes.     I  don't  quite  understand  that." 

"You  don't  ?"  He  settled  himself  among  the  cush- 
ions, as  if  to  make  the  most  of  his  ten  minutes. 
"Shirley,"  he  went  on,  "do  you  never  remember  any- 
thing ?  You've  lately  achieved  a  degree  of  volatility 
that  I  should  hardly  have  thought  possible.  I  tell 
you  a  dozen  times  of  the  difference  in  quality  be- 
tween your  nature  and  that  of  Joyce  and  her  circle. 
You  seem  to  understand  me,  at  the  time;  and  an 
hour  later  you  come  back  to  me  with  humble  praise 
of  the  city  sharpness  which  impresses  commonplace 
people." 

"I  remember  all  right ;  but,  you  see,  you've  never 
really  succeeded  in  convincing  me  that  I've  got  any- 
thing in  me,  beyond  a  sort  of  instinct  for  dress ;  and 
sharpness  is  better  than  nothing,  although  naturally 
it's  not  as  good  as  real  cleverness,  like  yours." 

"My  cleverness,  as  you  call  it,  can't  amount  to 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT        97 

much,  if  I'm  so  hopelessly  incapable  of  judging  you." 

"But  surely  I  must  know  myself  better  than  any- 
one else  can,  even  you.  All  the  same,  I  think  it's 
very  nice  of  you  to  go  on  believing  in  me,  particu- 
larly as  you  say  that  I'm  not  getting  on  anything 
like  as  well  as  you  expected." 

"I  know  you,"  he  insisted,  "far  better  than  you 
know  yourself;  and  I  tell  you  that  you're  worthy  of 
better  company  than  that  stupid  little  girl  and  her 
stupid  little  girl  friends  and  her  chuckleheaded  boy 
admirers.  As  for  getting  on,  you  don't  try  to  get 
on." 

"Oh,  I  do!" 

He  shook  his  head  amiably. 

"I  do,"  she  persisted.  "And  I  have  learnt  a  lot, 
considering.  I'm  ever  so  much  steadier  and  happier 
since  I  knew  you;  and  I'm  awfully  grateful.  If 
you  hadn't  helped  me,  I  should  probably  have  made 
myself  miserable  for  years  over  what's  past  You 
can  see  yourself  how  different  I  am." 

"My  statement  was  that  you  don't  try  to  get  on, 
not  that  you  didn't  try  to  get  on,"  he  distinguished. 
"Up  to  a  point,  you  were  a  good  girl  enough ;  and  it 
seemed  that  my  first  estimate  of  you  was  absolutely 
right;  but  it  wasn't.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that 
you  were  likely  to  give  so  much  trouble — to  be  so 
unaccountably  recalcitrant.  You  have  the  brains; 
you  have  the  temperament ;  you  appear  to  be  as  anx- 
ious to  please  as  a  puppy.     And  beneath  it  all  lies  a 


98       THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

strain  of  stubborn  triviality  which  utterly  defeats 
me." 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  Shirley  answered,  with  an  ingra- 
tiating penitence.     "I  did  warn  you,  didn't  I  ?" 

"Not  at  all.  You  said  you  were  silly,  which  isn't 
true.  What  you  really  lack  is  pluck  and  energy. 
You  find  it  less  risky  and  exhausting  to  stick  to  the 
worn  paths,  however  ugly  and  stony.  At  first  sight 
I  read  more  of  the  spirit  of  enterprise  into  you." 

She  hung  her  head  mutely  before  this  passionless 
rebuke. 

"We've  been  fairly  intimate  now,"  he  continued, 
"for  over  four  months ;  and  you  agree  that  our  friend- 
ship has  resulted  in  giving  you  a  less  hopeless  out- 
look. September  and  October  pass.  The  introduc- 
tory stages  are  past;  I  am  just  waiting  for  you  to 
take  the  next  step,  when  you  suddenly  pull  up  dead, 
and  declare  that  you  are  not  yet  ready  to  go  any  fur- 
ther. To  be  sure,  you're  at  liberty  to  drop  your  en- 
quiries at  any  point  you  like;  I've  always  admitted 
that.  But  you  will  neither  say  definitely  that  you 
don't  want  my  guidance  any  more,  nor  follow  where 
I  try  to  lead  you.  If  one  has  offered  to  take  a 
friend  to  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  one  may  be  par- 
doned for  objecting  to  settle  down  permanently  at 
the  Grands  Mulcts.  The  obvious  alternatives  are  tp 
finish  the  climb,  or  call  the  whole  affair  off.  You 
trust  me  very  little,  Shirley ;  yet  the  mere  fact  of  my 
persistence  ought  to  reassure  you.     Beyond  the  pleas- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT       99 

ure  of  watching  your  growth,  there  can  be  no  pos- 
sible reason  for  taking  so  much  trouble.  If  I  had 
not  been  fond  of  you,  I  should  have  given  you  up  in 
despair  before  now." 

As  his  cool  voice  ceased,  the  girl  spoke  with  a  hur- 
ried uneasiness. 

"It's  not  you,  it's  myself  that  I  don't  trust. 
Whatever  you  say,  I'm  rather  a  fool.  There's  some- 
thing in  me,  something  I  can't  get  rid  of,  which  shies 
at  once  at  any  idea  of  taking  anything  too  seriously. 
Even  going  to  church,  before  I  was  grown  up,  used 
to  embarrass  me.  It  made  me  feel  so  silly  to  bow 
in  the  Creed,  and  wait  with  my  face  hidden,  after 
the  service,  until  I  heard  the  rustle  of  people  getting 
up,  and  eat  bits  of  bread  out  of  the  palms  of  my 
hands,  and  all  that.  Of  course,  I  know  the  real  sil- 
liness is  to  think  it  silly ;  but  I  can't  help  it — that's 
how  I'm  made.  I  couldn't  possibly  say  that  I  don't 
want  your  help  and  friendship  any  more,  because  I 
do.  But  I'm  afraid  I  shall  never  be  a  credit  to  you ; 
and  honestly  I  think  it  would  be  better  not  to  try  .to 
take  me  any  further  than  I'm  suited  for;  that  is  if 
you  can  bear  me  as  I  am." 

"You  must  please  yourself,"  he  said  carelefssly. 
"I  needn't  apologise  for  saying  that  I  should  have 
liked  you  to  go  further,  if  you  had  felt  inclined. 
I'm  fond  of  you,  and  your  company's  been  a  great 
pleasure  to  me.  So  far  as  'bearing  you  as  you  now 
are'  goes,  no  doubt  we  shall  go  on  meeting  as  friends ; 


100     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

but  you  will  understand  that,  from  my  point  of 
view,  much  of  the  interest  will  be  knocked  out  of  our 
association.  Inertia  does  not  appeal  to  me  greatly ; 
constant  adventure  seems  to  me  the  very  salt  of  in- 
timacy. It  was  almost  wholly  because  I  foresaw  that 
I  could  rescue  you  from  your  condition  of  resolute 
hopelessness  that  I  forced  my  acquaintance  on  you." 

''Well,  and  I'm  not  hopeless  now,"  she  argued  un- 
easily. 

"You  are  neither  hopeless  nor  hopeful.  What 
you've  learnt,  so  far,  has  been  negative  and  destruc- 
tive. You  can  see  through  many  of  the  illusions 
and  prejudices  that  spoil  life  for  most  of  us.  That 
is  a  necessary  first  step,  but  a  short  one.  You  no 
longer  have  to  set  your  teeth  to  bear  the  pain,  for 
you  feel  no  pain ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  you  scarcely 
feel  pleasure.  You  are  almost  apathetic.  I  had 
hoped  to  make  my  friend  more  than  merely  callous." 

"You're  wrong;  really  you  are.  I  enjoy  myself 
lots." 

"Why,  you  get  a  certain  amount  of  contentment 
out  of  a  book,  a  sunny  day,  a  theatre — ^yes.  That's 
not  quite  what  I  meant.  The  great  emotions  hardly 
seem  desirable  to  you — triumph,  love,  fear  and  so  on. 
At  your  age,  with  your  possibilities,  you  have  made 
comfort  and  peace  your  ideals.  You  avoid  knowl- 
edge. Scepticism  has  become  your  god ;  though  you 
still  pay  public  homage  to  modern  British  morality. 
You  are  like  some  African  convert  to  Christianity, 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      101 

who  still  keeps  his  ju-ju  at  home  for  secret  devotions. 
Many  of  the  ideas  that  I  have  suggested  to  you  in 
bare  outline,  you  have  privately  rejected  in  your  own 
mind,  as  unreasonably  rebellious  against  the  opinion 
of  the  majority.  Oh,  yes,  yes!  You  don't  realise 
what  a  tell-tale  face  you  have." 

"Some  of  them  I  didn't  understand.  So  I 
couldn't  agree  with  them,  could  I  ?  But  it  was  no 
more  than  that." 

"Put  it  at  that.  You  never  will  understand,  un- 
less you  are  willing  to  learn.  Long  ago  I  told  you 
that  reason  is  only  one  of  the  paths  to  knowledge. 
What  shocks  and  surprises  the  reason  may  yet  in 
fact  be  perfectly  acceptable  and  desirable.  My  am- 
ibition  was  to  give  you  energy  as  well  as  peace;  to 
teach  you  to  act,  no  less  than  to  repose.  I  have  come 
to  the  point  at  which  the  multiplication  table  and 
the  rules  of  formal  logic  fail  me ;  and  there  you  elect 
to  stop." 

"Would  you  really  rather — very  much  rather — I 
went  on  ?"  she  asked  pleadingly. 

"You.  must  please  yourself,"  he  repeated  in  his 
changeless  voice. 

Shirley's  expressive  eyes  sought  the  emptily  crys- 
talline ones  of  Sir  Edward  in  anxious  enquiry ;  and 
for  quite  half  a  minute  neither  moved  or  spoke. 

"You  must  please  yourself,"  he  said,  a  third  time, 
smiling  gently  and  returning  her  gaze. 

"What  am  I  to  do  ?"  she  asked. 


102     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Do  ?" 

''Yes,"  she  said  fretfully.  "There's  some  sort  of 
a  ceremony,  isn't  there  ?" 

"Oh!  So  you've  decided  against  stagnation? 
You're  certain  it's  your  own  wish  ?  Not  merely  a 
surrender  to  my  disappointment?  I  couldn't  bear 
to  urge  you  against  your  inclinations." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  still  looking  at  him  intently,  while 
a  touch  of  colour  came  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips 
parted  slightly.  "Yes.  Now  I've  begun,  it'd  be 
stupid  and  cowardly  to  stop,  wouldn't  it  ?" 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  good  judgment,"  he 
replied,  with  as  near  an  approach  to  heartiness  as  his 
rather  remote  tranquillity  could  be  expected  to 
achieve.  "And,  selfishly,  I'm  very  glad ;  for  I  own 
that  I  have  looked  forward  greatly  to  you  becoming 
one  of  us.  There  is  something  discouraging  in  the 
sight  of  so  interesting  a  nature  as  yours  obstinately 
refusing  life,  and  clinging  to  a  faithless  indif- 
ference." 

"How  do  I  become  ...  one  of  you?"  Shirley 
again  enquired,  with  so  audible  a  note  of  nervousness 
that  Sir  Edward's  expression  changed  to  one  of 
amusement.  "I  don't  know  what  your  .  .  .  your 
services  are  like,  in  the  least  .  .  .  what  you  do." 

"Are  you  afraid,  like  Verdant  Green,  that  you  will 
have  to  submit  to  being  branded  with  a  red-hot  poker  ? 
What  a  funny  girl  you  are !  Do  I  look  like  Torque- 
mada  ?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      103 

"I  don't  know." 

"A  very  good  answer.  Nor  do  I ;  and,  on  second 
thoughts,  I  should  think  it's  quite  possible  that  he 
was  my  living  image.  Well,  it  comes  to  this:  you 
must  make  up  your  mind  whether  you  can  trust  me 
or  not." 

"Can't  you  give  me  some  sort  of  idea  of  what 
happens  ?" 

"Certainly.  A  number  of  us  assemble  in  a  suit- 
able place  and  perform  appropriate  rites.  You  will 
attend  as  a  spectator;  and  afterwards  you  will  have 
an  opportunity  of  being  initiated  yourself." 

"But  I  needn't?" 

"You  needn't.  I  should  like  to  suggest,  however, 
that  it  would  be  better  to  stay  away,  unless  you  think 
there's  a  reasonable  prospect  of  your  wishing  to  join 
us.  We  are  not  running  a  variety  entertainment, 
you  understand." 

"And  that's  all  you  can  tell  me  ?" 

"That's  all  I  can  tell  an  outsider;  and  you  are  an 
outsider  at  present.  You  will  see  that  you  are  not 
bound  in  any  way." 

After  a  period  of  downcast  reflection,  Shirley 
sighed. 

"All  right.  Of  course,  I  do  trust  you;  it'd  be 
beastly  not  to,  when  I  know  you  so  well,  and  you've 
been  so  nice.     When  will  it  be?" 

"That  I'll  let  you  know  in  a  few  days.  Perhaps 
in  a  fortnight  or  so,  at  my  country  place.     I  will  ar- 


10<t     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

range  it  for  a  Saturdlky  or  Sunday  evening,  so  as 
not  to  interfere  with  your  work;  and  there  will  be 
other  women  staying  with  me,  to  keep  you  company. 
This  is  a  most  pleasant  surprise,  Shirley ;  I  began  to 
make  sure  I'd  lost  you." 

"Would  that  have  mattered?"  she  asked,  with  a 
return  of  her  dissatisfied  manner. 

He  looked  at  her  for  some  seconds  without  answer- 
ing, and  then  laughed  softly  as  he  rose  from  the 
divan  and  came  towards  her. 

"Very  much  indeed.  .  .  .  And  now  I  see  that  I've 
exceeded  my  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  probably  made 
you  late  for  your  appointment.     Good-bye !" 

"When  shall  I  see  you  next  ?" 

"I'm  not  certain.  Possibly  not  until  we  meet  in 
the  country;  in  which  case  I'll  let  you  know  all  the 
arrangements  by  letter.  You  won't  change  your 
mind  again?     You  will  come?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  obediently,  "I'll  come." 

An  hour  later  she  was  seated  beside  Joyce  at  one 
end  of  a  long,  shining  mahogany  table  in  the  Palace 
Green  dining-room,  listening  to  her  friend's  appre- 
ciations of  various  common  acquaintances.  A  little 
butler  hovered,  like  a  grey  moth,  about  the  bright- 
ness of  the  two  girls,  anxiously  preventing  them  in 
all  their  doings;  but  his  voiceless  presence  had  no 
restraining  influence  on  the  incautious  tongue  of  his 
employer's  daughter. 

"And  those  are  the  people  that  Mummy  enjoys," 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      105 

she  summed  up  scatliinglj,  at  the  time  when  the  ser- 
vant was  handing  the  coffee.  "She  isn't  a  bit  odd 
herself,  or  if  she  is,  I  don't  see  it.  ..." 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"And  yet  she  likes  to  surround  herself  with  mon- 
sters. I  don't  believe  we've  got  anybody  in  our  ad- 
dress book  who  hasn't  a  rat  or  two  in  the  upper  storey, 
except  you,  and  a  few  boys  that  I  asked  here,  and 
Daddy's  business  friends,  who  talk  arithmetic  all 
the  time." 

"Well,  you  know,  I  think  myself  that  moderately 
crazy  people  are  better  fun  than  entirely  sane  ones." 

"I  don't  .  .  .  And  most  of  ours  are  such  out- 
siders, too.  'Now  yesterday,  for  instance,  Kitty 
Egerton  came  to  tea,  and  brought  a  man  with  her — 
I  haven't  yet  discovered  who  he  was;  some  sort  of 
middle-aged  celebrity,  who  was  by  way  of  being  an 
old  friend  of  hers  and  her  husband's — you  know  she 
only  married  that  idiotic  Egerton  boy  last  June. 
Mummy  was  delighted  to  see  him,  of  course ;  and  he 
began  to  make  himself  useful  by  handing  the  tea- 
cake  ;  and  the  plate  was  white-hot,  and  burnt  him  to 
the  bone.  I  was  rather  glad;  he  was  a  red-faced, 
swimmy-eyed,  over-smiling  sort  of  creature.  By- 
and-by  Kitty  was  going  to  pick  the  plate  up ;  and  he 
sang  out:  'Don't  touch  it,  darling!'  .  .  .  Every- 
body sat  up,  and  Mummy  looked  out  of  the  corner  of 
her  eyes  at  old  Lady  Price,  who's  Arthur  Egerton's 
aunt,  who  is  supposed  to  be  going  to  leave  him  her 


106      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

money ;  but  sbe  didn't  seem  to  have  heard  anything, 
and  you  could  see  everyone  breathe  again  with  re- 
lief. The  fool  of  a  man  tried  to  make  out  he'd  said 
'boiling' ;  and  went  on,  over  and  over  again  :  'Don't 
touch !  It's  barling — absolutely  barling.'  Kitty 
was  the  colour  of  a  tomato,  and  giggled  at  everything 
that  was  said  for  the  next  ten  minutes.  The  man  left 
before  she  did ;  I  suppose  he  thought  it'd  look  better, 
after  that;  and  Kitty  began  to  suck  up  to  Lady 
Price,  asking  her  to  come  to  dinner  and  meet  some 
famous  general  or  other — 'Such  a  delightful  man!' 
'Really  V  said  old  Price,  with  a  ghastly  stare.  'And 
does  he  call  you  darling,  too  ?'  .  .  .  But  it  is  rather 
the  frozen  edge,  isn't  it  ?  Six  months  married,  and 
doing  the  'dear  Arthur'  touch  all  day,  in  public." 

"Perhaps  the  man  had  known  her  when  she  was 
a  child,"  Shirley  charitably  suggested. 

"Perhaps  he  had.  They  called  each  other  'Mrs. 
Egerton'  and  'Mr.  Thingumybob' ;  but  that  may  only 
have  been  a  form  of  humour.  .  .  .  Then  there  was 
that  girl  from  the  Stock  Theatre,  that  all  the  high- 
brows rave  about.     She  came,  too." 

"Claire  Trenchard?" 

"No;  the  other — the  comic  one;  Julia  Crisp. 
Mummy  begged  her  to  recite  something.  I  knew 
what  it  would  be.  She  goes  in  for  too  delightful 
imitations  of  the  Lower  Classes.  It  always  strikes 
me  as  about  as  clever  as  it  would  be  if  Rita  Salomon 
was  to  give  an  imitation  of  a  Jew.     So  when  she'd 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      107 

said:  'Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Cassilis,  I  don't  think  I 
could/  once  or  twice,  she  sang  a  perfectly  beastly 
song.  It  wasn't  a  bit  funny ;  only  blasphemous  and 
disgusting.  And  there  was  Mrs.  Lampson — you 
know;  that  frumpy  old  crone  from  Carlton  House 
Terrace,  who  used  to  be  at  school  with  Mummy — 
jumping  up  and  down  in  her  chair,  wrestling  with 
Mummy  to  get  away,  and  saying  quite  loudly :  ''No, 
Adela;  no,  dear  Adela,  no!  I  cannot  sit  here  and 
listen  to  such  things.  E"o,  Adela  dear,  I  can  not/ 
poor  Mummy  all  the  time  trying  to  persuade  her,  in 
whispers,  that  it  was  so  quaint  and  so  wonderfully 
clever,  and  begging  her  not  to  make  a  scene  about  it. 
Of  course,  she  didn't  really  like  it  herself  much  bet- 
ter than  Mrs.  Lapipson  did ;  and  she  told  Julia  Crisp 
privately  afterwards  that  it  was  rather  a  naughty 
little  song,  and  she  was  afraid  some  of  her  friends 
were  a  trifle  shocked.  'Oh,  reaaally?'  Julia  Crisp 
said  in  that  cold,  offensive  way  of  hers.  'It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  I'd  wandered  into  the  company 
of  people  who  were  waiting  to  be  shocked;  or  nat- 
urally I  should  have  resisted  your  kind  invitation 
to  me  to  entertain  your  guests.'  So  she  got  the  griev- 
ance for  herself,  and  Mummy  was  quite  apologetic. 
Poor  darling !  she's  always  so  indulgent  with  anyone 
that  she  thinks  is  a  genius.  A  week  or  two  ago  she 
discovered  that  Terence  Soulis  knew  Batiste,  that 
French  composer,  you  know;  and  beseeched  him  to 
bring  him  along  one  evening,  when  she  was  'a.t  home/ 


108     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  introduce  him.  So  Soulis  brought  him,  in  a 
filthy  old  tweed  suit,  and  absolutely  blind  drunk; 
and  he  did  nothing  more  interesting  all  the  evening 
than  sit  on  a  sofa,  and  squint  at  us  so  horribly  that 
I  saw  my  own  nose,  for  days  after,  just  out  of  S3tii- 
pathy.  Mrs.  Simon,  who's  a  Catholic,  passed  most  of 
the  time  crossing  herself;  but  Mummy  was  awfully 
flattered  at  him  having  come,  though  he  couldn't  pos- 
sibly have  known  where  he  was;  and  when  Soulis 
was  helping  him  out,  she  thanked  him  warmly,  and 
said  how  delightful  it  had  been.  And  then  there's 
Tristan  Braun,  v/ho's  really  and  literally  barmy  on 
the  crumpet — he's  been  locked  up  more  than  once — 
and  shouts  and  screams  and  breaks  things  when  he 
begins  to  get  excited.  .  .  .  You  see,  it  isn't  as  if  we 
only  knew  a  few  freaks.  They  simply  swarm  here : 
that  revolting  old  Lewis,  who's  always  talking  about 
the  ideal  proportions  of  womanhood,  and  wanting 
to  measure  all  the  girls  he's  introduced  to ;  and  Ed- 
ward Talbot — oh,  I  forgot !  He's  a  friend  of  yours 
nowadays,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  I  like  him  very  much,"  Shirley  stoutly  af- 
firmed. 

"I  wonder  why  on  earth  ?" 

Shirley  laughed. 

"He  wonders  why  I  like  you,  Joyce." 

"Did  you  tell  him  ?  Well  then,  now  tell  me  why 
you  like  Mm." 

"Because  he's  very   clever   and   interesting   and 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      109 

kind.  He's  helped  me  a  lot — How?  Oh,  with  ad- 
vice and  so  on.  I  don't  mean  that  he's  paid  off 
bills  for  me." 

"Does  he  make  love  to  you  ?" 

"Of  course  not !  There's  never  been  the  faintest 
suggestion  of  such  a  thing,  though  we've  met  lots 
and  lots  of  times." 

"Oh  ?  What's  his  game,  I  wonder  ?"  Joyce  specu- 
lated. 

"Don't  you  believe  that  a  man  and  woman  are 
ever  just  friends,  then  ?"  Shirley  asked,  with  a  note 
of  faint  indignation. 

"Yes,  often.    But  Edward !" 

"But  what  have  you  got  against  him  ?  Only  that 
he  behaved  rather  stupidly  to  you  when  you  first 
met  him.  Why,  he  was  quite  middle-aged  then,  and 
you  were  only  fifteen.  No  doubt  he  thought  of  you 
as  a  small  kid.  Anyhow,  I've  probably  spent  far 
more  hours  alone  with  him  than  you  ever  have — you 
told  me  that  he  hardly  says  a  word  to  you  nowadays 
— and  he's  always  behaved  extraordinarly  nicely  and 
politely  to  me.  If  he  was  the  sort  of  man  you  make 
him  out  to  be,  why  should  he  waste  his  time  on  me 
at  all ?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  bet  you'll  find  out  before 
long." 

"Joyce,  you  really  are  unfair.  I  can't  think  why 
you've  got  your  knife  into  him,  like  this." 

"I  don't  like  his  friends,"  Joyce  explained,  in  the 


110     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

intervals  of  a  new  meal  of  chocolate  creams,  which 
she  had  begun  after  finishing  her  coffee,  "and  I  don't 
like  his  ears." 

Shirley  gave  a  distinct  start,  looked  at  her  friend 
gravely  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  smiled  again. 

"That's  odd,"  she  said.  "Do  you  know?  I 
couldn't  get  over  them  altogether,  for  a  little.  I  hate 
anything  wrong  physically,  don't  you?  But  after 
all,  this  is  a  very  small  thing,  hardly  noticeable.  I 
never  think  of  it  now.  And,  in  any  case,  I  never 
heard  that  short  ears  had  a  bad  effect  on  one's 
morals.  Pan  and  his  satyrs  and  centaurs  had  un- 
usually long  ones,  hadn't  they?  And  none  of  them 
were  any  good.  .  .  .  Father  used  to  tell  me  a  story 
once,  I  remember,  of  Pan's  secret  about  his  ears  be- 
ing given  away  by  someone  or  other  to  the  reeds 
beside  the  river  which  they  both  lived  in.  He  had 
to  tell  someone,  you  see,  or  something;  because  he 
was  the  only  person  who  knew,  and  couldn't  keep 
it  in.  Of  course  he  thought  the  reeds  were  quite 
safe ;  but  they  turned  into  a  nymph,  called  Daphne, 
who  was  so  frightened  at  what  she'd  heard  that  she 
ran  away  to  Jupiter  for  protection,  and  he  turned 
her  into  a  bird — a  swallow.  I'm  not  quite  sure 
what  happened  after  that;  but  I  think  the  two 
gods  had  a  sort  of  musical  competition  for  her — 
the  one  who  played  the  lyre  best,  to  get  her;  and 
one  of  them  skinned  the  other  alive — I  don't  re- 
member why." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     111 

The  recollection  of  these  old-world  stories  "was 
clearly  pleasant  to  Shirley,  for  her  eyes  grew  dark 
with  interest. 

"All  the  same,  I  hate  his  ears,"  Joyce  persisted, 
"and  I  don't  like  the  people  he's  always  about  with 
any  better." 

"You  mayn't  like  them;  but  you  don't  know  any 
actual  harm  of  them,  do  you?  They  strike  me  as 
rather  an  affected  set,  th-at's  all;  and  Sir  Edward's 
not  even  affected." 

"Eut  that's  n-ot  all,"  the  younger  girl  maintained ; 
and  paused,  for  some  moments,  in  thought,  before 
adding,  with  a  sudden  frown  and  a  reddening  of 
the  cheeks:  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  something  that 
I  never  meant  to  talk  about  to  anybody.  But  you 
ought  to  know  it,  before  you  get  too  thick  with 
Edward." 

"What?"  cried  Shirley,  in  quite  a  panic-stricken 
way. 

"You  remember  Gathome  Burrell,  down  at  Over- 
bourne  ?" 

"Of  course;  and  I've  seen  him  since,  though  he 
hasn't  spoken  to  me." 

"He  used  to  be  nice,  when  Edward  first  brought 
him  to  see  us,"  Joyce  continued,  with  a  dogged  de- 
fiance of  voice  and  face.  "He  behaved  decently 
and  amused  us  all;  and  he  seemed  to  want  to  be 
friends  with  me.  And  then  he's  still  very  good- 
looking,  don't  you  think?  .  .  .  Beast!" 


112      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Why,  what's  he  done?" 

Joyce's  round  face  grew  even  darker  in  colour, 
and  her  eyes  blazed  blue  fire,  while  the  pupils  con- 
tracted to  mere  specks  of  black. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you.  .  .  .  He'd  been  getting 
horrid  for  some  time;  dull  and  bored  and  rude. 
Sometimes  he  was  so  odd  that  I  wondered  if  he  was 
all  there;  and  now  and  again  I've  seen  him  half 
drunk.  Still,  we  hadn't  actually  had  a  row  of  any 
sort;  and  after  I  made  friends  with  Billy  Lovat, 
I  didn't  bother  much  about  him,  or  he  about  me. 
You  remember  what  he  was  like  at  Overboume — 
generally  half  asleep." 

The  other  girl  nodded,  but  refrained  from  inter- 
ruption; and,  with  some  obvious  angry  hesitation, 
Joyce  continued. 

"Well,  soon  after  you  were  there,  Edward  in- 
vited Daddy  and  Mummy  and  me  to  stay  with  him. 
He'd  just  got  into  his  new  house.  Have  you  ever 
been  there?" 

"It's  rather  nice — Georgian — on  the  side  of  a 
hill,  with  trees  at  the  back  and  sides;  and  you 
can  see  the  sea  from  the  front  windows,  a  mile 
or  two  away.  I  haven't  any  idea  what  direction 
it's  in,  because  we  had  the  car  shut,  going  down, 
as  it  was  raining;  but  I  think  Rye's  the  nearest 
town,  wherever  Eye  may  be.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  don't 
think  I'll  tell  you,  after  all." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     113 

Apparently  she  had  wandered  off  into  these  de- 
scriptive particulars  out  of  unwillingness  to  approach 
the  disclosure,  and  her  courage  now  definitely  failed 
her.  The  cry  of  outraged  curiosity  with  which 
Shirley  greeted  her  last  words,  however,  gave  her 
the  necessary  stimulus  to  complete  the  story. 

"There  were  only  a  few  people,  beside  ourselves : 
Gathorne  and  the  Jacinth-Bumpus  horror  and  a 
couple  of  Mrs.  Somethings  that  I'd  never  seen  be- 
fore, both  rather  painty,  and  dne  pretty.  It  was 
awfully  dull.  There  didn't  seem  to  be  anybody  to 
talk  to  but  Gathorne,  and  as  I  knew  what  he  was 
like  nowadays,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  pass  most 
of  the  time  reading  a  ripping  book  of  Mabel  Barnes- 
Grundy's  that  I'd  brought  with  me.  However,  Ga- 
thorne bucked  up  tremendously,  soon  after  we  ar- 
rived, and  was  really  quite  amusing.  I  was  rather 
angry  with  him,  the  third  day  we  were  there,  when 
he  tried  to  put  his  arm  around  me  while  we  were 
walking  in  the  garden  alone,  after  dinner.  Still,  I 
thought  he  was  only  ragging,  so  I  just  shoved  him 
off  and  told  him  not  to  be  a  fool;  and  we  went 
on  talking  ordinarily.  .  .  .  That  night  .  .  .  you'll 
never  believe  this,  Shirley." 

"Go  on,"  Shirley  begged,  with  lips  and  eyes  of 
anticipatory  horror. 

"I'd  gone  to  bed.  I'd  been  asleep,"  Joyce  con- 
tinued hurriedly,  frowning  at  the  finger-glass  be- 
fore her.     "My  room  had  two  doors,  one  on  to  the 


114     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

passage,  and  one  into  another  room — I  didn't  know 
whose,  but  it  wasn't  either  Mummy's  or  Daddy's. 
They  were  on  the  floor  below.  The  key  was  on 
my  side,  and  I  tried  it,  the  night  I  came,  to  make 
sure  the  door  was  locked;  and  it  was.  I'm  pretty 
sure  I  tried  it  again  the  next  night,  too,  but,  I 
wouldn't  swear.  I  had  a  nightlight,  as  usual,  on 
the  washing-stand.  ...  I  don't  know  what  time  it 
was,  when  something  woke  me  up  with  a  start,  and 
I  sat  up  in  bed.  The  door  into  the  next  room  was 
opening." 

"Joyce,  how  awful !  I  should  have  died." 
"I  was  pretty  terrified.  It  opened  quite  slowly, 
and  Gathorne  put  his  head  in,  and  nodded  at  me 
and  smiled,  without  saying  anything.  I  called  out: 
'W^iat  is  it?  What's  the  matter?'  and  he  only 
screwed  up  his  mouth  as  if  he  was  saying  'Ssh !'  and 
then  smiled  again  and  came  right  into  the  room. 
He  looked  half  foxed;  but,  what  was  far  worse,  he 
seemed  to  expect  that  I  should  be  glad  to  see  him. 
That  frightened  me  so  that  I  skipped  straight  out  of 
bed,  in  my  pyjamas,  and  ran  at  him  saying:  'Get 
out  of  my  room  at  once !'  He  tried  to  hold  the  door 
for  a  second,  but  I  told  him  I'd  yell  the  house  down 
if  he  didn't  let  go;  so  then  he  did,  and  I  slammed 
the  door  on  him,  and  felt  for  the  key.  It  was 
still  there,  and  I  locked  the  door,  and  shoved  a  lot 
of  things  up  against  it,  and  did  the  same  to  the  other 
door,    and   got   back   into   bed   to   think.     First   I 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      115 

thought  I'd  go  and  sleep  with  Mummy.  That  would 
have  meant  telling  her  all  about  it,  and — I  don't 
know — I  wasn't  up  to  it;  not  that  I  cared  about 
getting  that  beastly  devil  into  trouble,  but  I  didn't 
feel  I  could  ever  tell  anybody.  .  .  .  Filthy,  hor- 
rible swine!  ...  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  again  all 
night,  though  I  wasn't  really  afraid  of  him  coming 
back.  But  just  remembering  what  he'd  looked  like 
made  me  feel  sick — red  in  the  face  and  rather  mad 
and  awfully  pleasied  with  himself.  He  had  on  yel- 
low pyjamas.  ...  If  Billy  Lovat  knew  about  it, 
he'd  kill  him." 

"But  what  happened  next  day?" 
"Well,  I  dressed  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  and  sat 
at  my  window;  and,  about  half  past  eight,  I  saw 
Gathome  come  into  the  garden  alone.  I  was  so 
furious  at  the  sight  of  him  that  I  ran  straight  out 
of  the  house,  and  caught  him  crossing  the  lawn.  I 
said :  ^If  you  don't  clear  out  of  here  before  break- 
fast, I'll  tell  everybody  at  the  table  about  last  night' 
He  stared  at  me,  as  if  he  thought  it  was  all  a  joke; 
so  I  told  him:  'I  mean  it;  and  don't  you  ever 
come  near  our  house  again,  either,  if  you  want  it 
kept  dark.'  He  still  went  on  smiling  in  a  maddening 
way,  so 'I  said  that  if  he'd  meant  it  as  a  rag,  it 
wasn't  the  sort  of  rag  I'd  stand;  and  I  thought  he 
was  a  disgusting  cad,  and  I'd  never  speak  to  him 
again.  Then  he  did  look  a  bit  flustered  and  puzzled ; 
and  what  do  you  suppose  he  said?" 


116     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"I  can't  imagine." 

"  'Why'd  you  left  the  door  ajar,  then,  and  a  light 
burning  V  " 

"Do  you  mean  he  actually  dared  to  hint 
that  .  .  .    ?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  told  him  that  he  was  a 
liar,  and  he'd  better  not  turn  up  to  breakfast.  As 
I  was  going  away,  he  tried  to  catch  hold  of  me  and 
say  something  else;  but  I  hit  him  on  the  nose,  and 
he  let  me  go.  Sure  enough,  we  didn't  see  any  more 
of  him  before  we  left.  Edward  said  he'd  been  sud- 
denly called  away  to  London.  He  hasn't  been  near 
us  since." 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  pushed  back  her  straight 
yellow  fringe,  as  if  emerging  from  a  dive,  smoothed 
it  dowTi  again,  and  began  to  nibble  at  a  chocolate, 
while  the  bright  colour  faded  from  her  forehead  and 
neck. 

"What  a  brute!"  Shirley  indignantly  sympathised. 

"So  now  you  see,"  Joyce  warned  her. 

"What?  Oh,  Sir  Edward!  Why,  how's  he  any 
more  to  blame  for  Mr.  Burrell's  behaviour  than — 
well,  than  your  father,  for  instance?  They're  both 
friends  of  his." 

"I'm  perfectly  certain  it  was  all  Edward's  fault." 

"Joyce,  dear!     How  could  it  possibly  be?" 

"I  believe  Gathorne  was  a  decent  enough  fellow, 
before  he  knew  Edward." 

"You  believe  F' 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      117 

"Lots  of  people  have  told  me  so.  Besides,  look 
at  Edward's  other  friends !  And  that's  not  all.  Just 
before  I  left  him  in  the  garden,  he  was  muttering 
something  about:  'Who  did  leave  it  open,  if  you 
didn't?  Edward  was  sure  you  would  one  night, 
before  long.'  " 

"You  mean  to  say  you'd  believe  such  a  creature 
as  that,  after  the  way  he'd  behaved?  Of  course  it 
was  just  a  mean  attempt  to  shift  part  of  the  blame 
on  somebody  else." 

"Why  did  Edward  put  us  in  rooms  that  communi- 
cated?" Joyce  argued.  "There  are  plenty  of  rooms 
in  the  house.  I  should  think  half  of  them  were 
empty.  And  who  did  open  that  door?  I'm  sure 
it  wasn't  Gathome ;  I  believe  he  really  was  surprised 
to  find  it  open — not  that  it's  any  excuse  for  him,  of 
course.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  know  I  can't  prove  anything ;  but 
I'm  as  certain  as  I  sit  here  that  Edward  arranged 
the  whole  thing." 

"How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense?"  protested 
Shirley.     "What  in  the  world  should  he  do  it  for?" 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  he's  always  had  a  grudge 
against  me  for  not  being  much  interested  in  him. 
He's  frightfully  vain." 

"Well,  I  think  you're  very  unfair  and  bitter  about 
him.  Mr.  Burrell  behaved  revoltingly,  and  I'm  quite 
sure  Sir  Edward  would  be  as  angry  with  him  as  any- 
body, if  he  knew.  ...  In  fact,"  she  added,  with  a 
sudden  expression  of  reminiscence,   "I  know  they 


118      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

have  quarrelled.  Perhaps  Sir  Edward  does  know. 
Thej  were  sitting  near  me  at  a  restaurant,  a  long 
time  ago  now;  only  a  few  weeks  after  I  first  met 
them;  and  thej  had  an  awful  row,  and  Mr.  Burrell 
sprang  up  and  stamped  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage." 

"Oh  ?"  said  Joyce  curiously.  "Did  you  hear  what 
they  said  at  all  ?" 

"Only  a  few  words.     I  don't  remember  anything." 

"Perhaps  it  wds  about  me,"  Joyce  ruminated.  "If 
it  was,  probably  Gathome  was  blowing  up  Edward 
for  getting  him  into  a  mess." 

"Oh  Joyce,  you  really  are  ridiculous!  You've 
got  quite  a  mania  on  the  subject." 

"All  right !"  Joyce  surrendered,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  with  a  sort  of  angry  resignation.  "All 
I  know  is  that  nothing  would  persuade  me  to  go 
and  stay  in  his  house  again ;  and  if  you've  got  any 
sense,  you  won't  trust  him  farther  than  you  can  see 
him." 

"I  trust  him  entirely ;  and  I'm  going  to  stay  with 
him  in  a  week  or  two." 

"You're  not?     Alone?" 

"Alone?  Of  course  not.  He's  having  a  party, 
and  I'm  asked." 

Joyce  looked  genuinely  uneasy. 

"Honestly  I  wish  you  wouldn't.    I  hate  that  man." 

"I  know  you  do ;  but  I  know  him  very  well,  and 
like  him." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     119 

"But  truly  he  hasn't  any  sort  of  reputation. 
Everybody  sniffs  at  once,  when  they  hear  that  a  girl 
is  a  friend  of  his." 

"I  don't  care  a  bit  about  that.  I'm  not  going 
to  give  up  a  good  friend  just  because  people  sniff — 
which  is  a  nasty  trick,  anyhow." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Shirley?"  asked 
the  younger  girl,  with  new  curiosity.  "I  didn't 
know  you  could  be  angry.  You're  not  in  love  with 
that  old  creature,  are  you?" 

"Not  in  the  slightest  degree.  Only  I  don't  care 
for  scandal  about  my  friends,  with  no  sort  of  founda- 
tion." 

"There's  foundation  enough,  if  one  chooses  to  dig 
it  out.  So  far,  I  haven't  bothered  to  look  for  it; 
but  I've  heard  hints  enough,  goodness  knows.  Look 
here!  If  I  can  find  out  something  definite  against 
him,  will  you  promise  to  chuck  him  ?" 

"Why  are  you  so  keen  about  it?  I'm  not  going 
to  inflict  him  on  you;  and  surely,  at  my  age,  I  can 
choose  my  own  friends.  If  he  turned  out  a  bad 
character,  I  should  naturally  avoid  him ;  but  I  can't 
see  any  reason  for  trying  to  manufacture  a  case 
against  a  man  who  goes  everywhere  and  knows  every- 
body and  seems  to  be  thought  a  lot  of." 

"Yes,  but  will  you  promise?" 

"I  won't  promise  anything,"  said  Shirley,  with 
a  fling  of  impatience;  and  then  laughing,  with  her 


120     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

customary  pleasantness:  "Do  let's  talk  of  some- 
thing else!  I'm  quite  sick  of  the  subject  of  Sir 
Edward." 

"Right-oh !"  Joyce  agreed,  in  cynical  indifference. 
"Let's  go  upstairs  and  play  the  gramophone.  I've 
got  some  topping  new  records." 


CHAPTEE  VI 

WET  fog  had  submerged  the  town  until  an 
hour  or  two  after  noon,  when  a  biting  little 
wind  had  stolen  through  the  streets  and  open  spaces, 
crumpling  up  the  milky  draperies  and  bearing  them 
away  to  the  south-west.  In  the  parks,  grass,  paths 
and  seats  were  clammily  bedewed;  and  drops  fell 
thickly  from  the  shining,  black  boughs.  With  the 
dissipation  of  the  protecting  mists,  the  winter  day 
had  grown  yet  more  bitterly  cold.  Toot-passengers 
hurried  on  their  ways,  their  hands  buried  deeply 
in  pockets  or  muffs ;  motor-carriages  roared  by  with 
closed  windows ;  the  outside  seats  of  omnibuses  were 
thinly  peopled,  but  the  interiors  were  congested  with 
standing  passengers.  Drivers  of  covered  vans  re- 
tired as  far  as  possible  into  the  depths  of  their  caves, 
still  singing  with  a  dismal  lustiness,  as  is  their  habit ; 
those  in  charge  of  open  carts  bent  their  faces  speech- 
lessly before  the  wind,  or  draped  their  necks  and 
shoulders  with  sacks,  where  these  were  available. 
Dogs  were  in  a  mood  at  once  quarrelsome  and  ro- 
mantic ;  there  was  a  notable  absence  of  playing  chil- 
dren.    The  yellowish  sky  was  hard  and  pitiless. 

In  Hyde  Park,  as  evening  approached,  the  seats 
near  Stanhope  Gate  were  naturally  deserted;  but  in 

121 


122      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

a  foot-path,  some  little  way  from  the  drive  at  this 
point,  a  solitary  man  sprawled  on  a  bench,  sharply 
contemplating  the  damp,  leaf-strewn  earth  before 
liim.  It  was  Gathorne  Burrell  and  he  was  exceed- 
ingly ill  equipped  for  such  rigorous  weather;  for  he 
wore  neither  great-coat  nor  gloves,  and  his  coloured 
shirt  collar  was  low  enough  to  expose  most  of  his 
throat.  The  tears  that  dripped  quietly  from  the 
branches  above  him  had  darkly  spotted  his  soft  hat 
of  pale  grey  felt;  and  his  brown  shoes  were  soaked 
with  moisture  from  the  grass  through  which,  it 
seemed,  he  had  recently  been  walking.  Nor  did  he 
wear  the  air  of  one  of  those  fortunate,  and  some- 
what irritating,  beings  who  are  insensible  of  tempera- 
ture, his  pale,  expressionless  face  and  thin  hands 
being  blue  with  the  cold.  Yet  he  had  not  collapsed 
on  to  the  seat  through  illness  or  exhaustion,  for  now 
and  then  he  shifted  his  attitude  unconcernedly,  or 
threw  an  upward  glance  at  the  intricate  girder-work 
of  the  trees;  and  at  such  times  his  lips  moved,  now 
voicelessly,  again  in  some  disjointed  words.  One 
might  have  fancied  that  intense  creative  concentra- 
tion of  the  mind  made  him  unconscious  of  the  ma- 
terial world,  or  it  could  have  been  not  uncharitably 
supposed  that  he  was  only  one  of  those  many  semi- 
sane  persons  with  whom  a  big  town  abounds.  He 
shewed  no  signs  of  intoxication. 

Wayfarers  were  growing  rarer  and  rarer  along 
these  by-roads ;  and  Shirley  Cresswell,  cosily  dressed 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     123 

in  furs,  her  high-heeled  shoes  tripping  nimbly  be- 
neath her  short  skirt,  noted  the  seated  figure,  as 
she  approached  it,  with  a  wary  eye.  The  dusk  deep- 
ened ;  the  demeanour  and  array  of  the  man  were  dis- 
couragingly  eccentric.  She  glanced  at  the  drenched 
grass  which  shut  her  in  on  either  side;  halted  for  a 
moment,  with  a  foot  on  the  low  iron  railing  that 
bordered  the  path;  and  then  suddenly  resumed  her 
direct  course,  at  increased  speed,  and  putting  as 
much  distance  as  dry  ground  permitted  between  her- 
self and  the  bench  that  she  had  to  pass.  At  the 
light  sound  of  her  footsteps  Burrell  looked  up,  star- 
ing intently  at  the  newcomer ;  but  he  clearly  did  not 
recognise  her  until  she  was  exactly  opposite  him, 
when  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  plucking  the  hat  from  his 
head.  The  girl,  however,  nodding  slightly  without 
looking  at  him,  flashed  by  and  was  twenty  yards 
further  on  her  way  before  he  was  able  to  overtake  her. 

"How  do  you  do  ?  You  don't  remember  me,"  he 
said,  offering  his  frozen  hand,  and  smiling  with  a 
touch  of  derision  into  her  widely  startled  eyes. 

Shirley  surveyed  the  extended  fingers  doubtfully, 
before  allowing  her  own  gloved  ones  to  drop  limply 
through  them. 

"Yes,  I  do.  Isn't  it  cold?  I  must  be  getting 
on,  though.     I'm  late  for  an  appointment." 

She  nodded, 'with  a  blush,  and  renewed  her  flight; 
while  Burrell,  with  some  absence  of  tact,  fell  into 
step  beside  her,   his  violet  hands  dangling  empty 


124     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

(for  he  had  jettisoned  his  gold-topped  walking  stick 
at  his  recent  resting  place)  and  his  strained,  blood- 
suffused  eyes  fixed  on  the  rounded  cheek  which  was 
all  that  was  visible  between  her  high  fur  collar 
and  the  brim  of  her  hat. 

"I'll  walk  with  you  as  far  as  Marble  Arch,"  he 
informed  her. 

"I  ought  to  get  out  into  Park  Lane  at  once  and 
take  a  cab,"  she  explained,  with  a  hurried  cold- 
ness. 

"Well,  you  can't  now;  you  walked  straight  past 
Stanhope  Gate.  Anyhow,  you're  likelier  to  pick 
up  a  taxi  in  Oxford  Street;  and,  besides,  there's 
something  I've  got  to  say  to  you." 

His  intonation  was  so  imperative  that  Shirley 
looked  about  her  anxiously.  In  the  wide  drive,  fifty 
yards  or  so  to  her  right,  there  were  still  occasional 
pedestrians;  and  carriages  passed  with  some  fre- 
quency. At  the  first  foot-path  which  led  to  this  more 
populous  quarter  she  turned  aside,  her  escort  still 
accompanying  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  after  some  moments 
of  silence.     "I  haven't  much  time,  you  know." 

"I've  forgotten  your  name  again,  for  the  moment," 
he  brusquely  confessed,  "but  I  know  where  we  met ; 
and  I'm  pretty  sure  that  you're  the  girl  that  some- 
one was  talking  about,  the  other  day,  as  Edward 
Talbot's  latest  fancy.     Am  I  right?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      125 

The  cheek  which  he  was  watching  grew  brighter 
in  colour,  but  Shirley  kept  her  face  averted  as  she 
answered  in  rather  a  shaking  voice. 

^'I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand,  quite.  ...  I 
must  say  good-bye  here." 

With  the  words  she  stopped  suddenly  and  seemed 
to  await  his  departure.  A  pair  of  lovers  were  saun- 
tering by,  rapt  in  an  amorous  speechlessness,  their 
arms  linked,  their  eyes  contemplating  the  imseen 
wonder-land. 

''Why?"  asked  Burrell,  with  an  unwinking  stare. 

"I've  got  an  engagement,  I  told  you." 

He  looked  up  at  the  hard  sky,  and  gave  a  quick,, 
loud  laugh. 

"You're  not  expecting  a  fiery  chariot,  I  suppose. 
Well  then !  There  dosen't  seem  to  be  anybody  here 
to  keep  an  appointment  with,  beyond  that  housemaid 
and  her  boy.  There  isn't  a  cab  in  sight.  You 
can  listen  to  me  until  you  find  one." 

"A  bus  would  take  me  there,"  Shirley  reflected 
uncomfortably,  turning  her  eyes  towards  one  that 
lumbered  past  at  the  moment. 

"All  right,  I  can  talk  just  as  well  in  a  bus;  if 
you  don't  think  it's  too  public." 

She  seemed  to  collect  her  energies,  and  glanced 
at  her  persistent  follower  for  an  instant  with  ob- 
vious, if  not  very  determined,  annoyance. 

"I'd  rather  be  alone.     Do  you  mind  ?" 


126      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"What  have  you  been  hearing  about  me?"  he 
broke  out  fiercely.  "Has  Joyce  Cassilis  been  talk- 
in?     Or  Talbot?  ...  Eh?     Tell  me!" 

"Nothing  .  .  .  no,"  Shirley  assured  him,  shrink- 
ing away  from  his  angry  gesture,  and  beginning 
once  more  to  move  forward.  "Please  go  away.  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  bother  me." 

"You're  telling  lies,"  he  declared,  in  a  much  lower 
voice,  and  walking  close  at  her  elbow,  bending  his 
head  towards  hers.  "Someone's  been  talking;  or 
why  am  I  suddenly  not  fit  to  be  treated  with  ordi- 
nary civility?" 

"I  hardly  know  you,"  the  girl  protested.  "I 
want  to  be  alone.  I  think  you  might  go  away, 
when  you're  asked." 

"Was  it  Talbot?"  he  continued,  still  brushing 
against  her  and  speaking  almost  at  her  ear.  "By 
God,  if  it  was!" 

"It  wasn't  Sir  Edward." 

"What  wasn't  ?"  he  enquired  logically  enough ;  and 
Shirley,  taking  refuge  from  her  slip  in  complete  si- 
lence, looked  straight  to  her  front,  her  lips  a  little 
parted,  the  colour  receding  from  her  face,  and  her 
feet  stepping  out  faster  than  ever.  It  could  be  seen 
that  she  was  frightened,  but  there  were  traces  of 
anger  in  her  expression  that  might  supply  the  want 
of  bravery. 

"You're  only  a  little  fool,"  he  said  contemptously, 
his  long  stride  keeping  easy  pace  with  her  speed. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      127 

"I  can  see  tliat;  and  it's  what  people  are  saying 
about  jou,  too.  I  don't  know  why  I  bother.  .  .  . 
Do  you  know  the  sort  of  fellow  that's  got  hold 
of  you  ?  Eh  ?  .  .  .  You  won't  answer  ?  All 
right !  .  .  .  Do  you  think  he's  a  nice  man  ?  Do  you 
thinks  he's  a  man  at  all  ?  Do  you  know  the  police 
are  after  him?  Would  j'^ou  like  me  to  tell  you 
some  of  his  adventures  ?  .  .  .  Look  here !  Listen ! 
Don't  be  idiotic  and  obstinate !  It's  to  your  own 
interest  to  listen.  I  don't  really  care  two  straws 
what  happens  to  you.  But  someone's  got  to  stop 
him;  someone's  got  to  get  it  back  on  him.  Lie's 
done  enough.  .  .  .  He's — I  don't  know  what  he  is, 
though  I  know  what  he  says  he  is.  But  that's  not 
possible.  He's  not  sane;  he's  not  human — by  God, 
Miss  Cresswell,  he  isn't!  I'm  sure  of  it.  If  I 
said  three  words  to  the  police,  I  could  get  him  stuck 
in  prison  to-morrow.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the 
Tewkesbury  Court  business?  No,  of  course,  you 
haven't.  .  .  .  But  would  he  stay  there?  ]!^ot  he! 
One  can  never  be  free  of  him,  so  long  as  he's  alive. 
But  he  can  die,  you  know ;  he  says  so  himself.  He's 
frightened  of  that,  at  times,  I'm  pretty  certain, 
though  he  pretends  not  to  care." 

All  this  was  poured  out  in  the  same  rapid,  in- 
coherent undertone,  as  they  hastened  over  the  gravel 
towards  Marble  Arch.  Once  a  passing  gentleman 
halted  and  looked  after  them  curiously.  The  haste 
and  averted  eyes  of  the  woman,  the  hushed  gabble 


128     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  elbow-to-elbow  propinquity  of  the  man  pro- 
duced the  effect  of  one  seeking  to  escape  from  the 
threatening  solicitation  of  a  sturdy  beggar.  In  all 
likelihood  the  passer-by  had  thoughts  of  a  rescue, 
and  then  was  convinced  of  having  misinterpreted 
the  situation,  after  another  glance  at  the  clothes 
and  bearing  of  Burrell.  At  least,  after  a  few  sec- 
onds' scrutiny  of  the  retreating  figures  he  turned  and 
went  about  his  business. 

"You've  got  to  be  told,  if  you  walk  me  over  half 
London,"  Burrell  insisted.  "I  will  tell  you,  whether 
you  like  it  or  not.  I  believe  you're  not  a  bad 
sort;  and  you're  pretty,  anyhow.  .  .  .  Keep  away 
from  that  devil.  Don't  become  the  subject  of  one 
of  his  experiments.  I  tell  you  you're  not  the  first, 
by  hundreds.  I've  been  just  such  another  danmed 
fool  myself;  and  you  shan't  be  able  to  say  I  didn't 
warn  you.  What  does  he  do  it  for?  Curiosity, 
sheer  devilry — I  don't  know.  God  knows !  ISTot  for 
the  motive  of  any  ordinary  man.  ...  Or  not  often. 
Perhaps  you  may  be  one  of  the  exceptional  cases. 
Perhaps  you're  reserved  for  higher  honours  than 
most  of  them." 

They  had,  by  this  time,  reached  the  park  gates, 
and  Shirley,  pausing  on  the  sidewalk  among  the 
usual  street  crowds,  lost  the  look  of  alarm  which 
she  had  worn  in  the  comparative  desolation  of  the 
park.  She  confronted  the  persecutor  boldly  enough 
now. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      129 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  more  at  all.  I 
know  all  about  you;  and  I  shouldn't  dream  of  be- 
lieving anything  you  said  against  anybody." 

"Great  God,  how  stupid  you  are!"  he  cried  im- 
patiently. "What  sort  of  amusement  do  you  sup- 
pose I  get  out  of  chasing  chance  acquaintances  round 
Hyde  Park,  and  telling  them  a  pack  of  lies?  Or 
am  I  supposed  to  be  a  wandering  lunatic?" 

His  disordered  appearance  and  glaring  eyes  might 
have  warranted  the  acceptance  of  such  a  supposi- 
tion ;  but  the  girl  did  not  take  this  line  in  her  reply. 

"I  think  you  hate  Sir  Edward,"  she  began. 

"Ah !"  he  said,  drawing  in  his  breath  quickly,  and 
the  admission  of  the  fact  flashing  out  of  his  instan- 
taneously convulsed  face. 

"I  knew,  some  time  ago,  that  you'd  quarrelled; 
and  I  know  why.  Because  he  won't  have  any  more 
to  do  with  you,  you  want  to  do  him  harm  in  any 
way  you  can  think  of — even  with  people  that  you 
scarcely  know,  like  me.  I've  heard  something  of 
the  kind  before,  from  other  friends  of  his.  It's 
no  good  with  me;  I  think  Sir  Edward  is  perfectly 
right.     Please  go  away.     I  shan't  say  another  word." 

As  she  turned  her  back  definitely  upon  him,  he 
burst  out  in  louder  and  wilder  anger. 

"So  he's  told  you  about  Joyce,  I  see;  and  how 
shocked  he  was.  He  didn't  refer  to  his  part  of 
the  business,  did  he?  He  didn't  tell  you  that  I 
fell  in  love  with  her  two  years  ago  and  more.     He 


130      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

didn't  say  that  it  was  his  doing  that  she  never 
got  to  like  me ;  or  how  he  had  the  happy  thought  of 
finishing  off  the  pair  of  us  with  one  shot.  Did  he 
say  that  he  had  an  old  score  against  her  that  needed 
settling  ?  I  was  to  do  that  for  him.  That  was  what 
he  had  specially  trained  me  for — that,  and  other 
work  that  he's  still  got  for  me,  blast  him!  Yes, 
he  means  to  get  me  back  some  day,  sure  enough. 
He  hasn't  done  with  me  yet.  Oh,  he's  quite  con- 
fident. But  there's  one  thing  he  hasn't  allowed  for. 
He's  put  me  down,  but  I'm  not  out.  He  may  get 
a  surprise  yet.  .  .  ." 

A  taxi-cab  passing  at  this  moment,  with  its  flag 
up,  Shirley  raised  her  hand,  and  it  swerved  in  to  the 
curb.  Almost  before  it  had  stopped,  she  had  the  door 
open  and  climbed  hastily  in,  with  a  knee-high 
backward  view  of  trim  black  silk  stocking;  but 
before  she  could  shut  herself  into  solitude,  Bur- 
rell  had  caught  the  handle,  and  had  his  foot  on  the 
step. 

"I'm  coming  with  you.  I  haven't  finished  yet,'' 
he  cried,  pulling  against  her,  but  apparently  loath, 
at  first,  to  put  out  his  strength  to  gain  his  point. 
In  face  of  her  resistance,  however,  he  lost  his  tem- 
per, and  gave  a  violent  jerk  which  made  her  fingers 
relax.  The  girl  uttered  a  little  shriek,  half  of  fear 
and  half  of  pain;  and  at  this  the  driver  of  the 
oab,  a  stout,  dark-faced  man  of  middle  age,  stiffly 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      131 

accoutred  in  an  unyielding  double-breasted  ulster, 
rolled  hurriedly  out  of  his  seat,  and  thrust  his  bulk 
between  the  disputants. 

"Get  off  my  cab.  Leg  go  that  door,"  he  said, 
with  loud  huskiness,  snatching  it  from  Burrell's  hand 
as  he  spoke,  and  shutting  it  with  a  decisive  slam. 
Burrell,  slipping  off  the  step  into  the  gutter,  and 
barking  his  shins  as  he  went,  turned  on  Shirley's 
champion  with  uncontrolled  fury. 

"What  the  hell  are  you  doing?"  he  shouted,  with 
a  face  of  white  distraction.  "What  the  hell  do 
you  mean  by  touching  me,  you  dog?" 

"Dog"  was  apparently  a  term  which  the  driver 
considered  inapplicable  to  himself.  His  brow  fell, 
and  his  square  under  jaw  shifted  forward  ominously. 

"Touch  yer?"  he  growled,  planting  himself 
squarely  before  his  traducer.  "I'll  touch  yer,  to 
rights.  I'll  give  yer  a  punch  in  the  bleating  ear- 
hole,  if  I've  any  of  your  chat,  me  lad." 

To  point  the  threat,  he  began  to  draw  off  his 
thick  leather  gloves,  while  a  delighted  crowd  in- 
stinctively made  a  ring,  proper  for  the  proposed  en- 
counter. Burrell  stared  about  him  blindly,  and 
turned  aside. 

"Ah,  you're  right!"  sardonically  commented  the 
victor,  pulling  his  glove  on  again.  "Go  on !  Get 
out  of  it  ?  0x0,  d'y'ear  ?  Or  I'll  soon  learn  yer  to 
come  messing  about  with  my  faros." 


132     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

The  assistants  made  a  smiling  lane  for  the  re- 
treat of  the  discomforted  Burrell ;  but  he  seemed  un- 
aware of  any  disgrace  attaching  to  his  neglect  of  a 
challenge.  All  his  rage  had  slipped  from  him.  He 
looked  apathetically  on  the  many  faces,  derisive, 
apprehensive  or  inquisitive,  which  surrounded  him; 
and  wandered  off  with  a  perilous  vagueness  into 
the  traffic  of  Oxford  Street.  The  cab-driver,  grin- 
ning broadly,  reopened  the  door  and  nodded  reassur- 
ingly to  the  girl,  who  had  been  regarding  the  inci- 
dents of  her  rescue  with  alarmed  eyes. 

"Where  to.  Miss  ?" 

She  gave  him  an  address ;  and  "thank  you  so  much" 
she  added,  with  a  relieved  smile. 

"Oh,  that's  quite  all  right,"  replied  the  man,  grace- 
fully putting  aside  this  expression  of  her  gratitude. 
"  'E  takes  good  care  of  'is  'ealth,  'e  does.  .  .  .  Yerss ! 
I  wasn't  in  France  and  Salonniker  for  nothing,"  and, 
closing  the  door  again,  climbed  back  into  his  seat 
and  wheeled  off  into  the  Bayswater  Eoad. 

Three  days  later  Shirley  received  a  couple  of 
letters  by  post.  The  first,  which  she  opened  at 
breakfast  in  her  flat,  came  from  Sir  Edward  Tal- 
bot, and  was  laconically  conceived. 

New  Place,  Rye. 
Monday. 
My  dear  Shirley, 

Our  party  is  arranged  for  next  Saturday.  This  is,  I 
hope,  giving  you  sufficient  notice;  but  if  you  should  have 
another  engagement  for  that  day,  pray  set  it  aside.     The 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      133 

car  will  call  for  you  in  Wigmoie  Street  at  five  o'clock,  so 
as  to  get  you  here  in  good  time  for  dinner. 

Yours  aifectionately, 
Edward  Talbot. 
Bring  plenty  of  warm  wraps  with  you.    We  are  in  an 
exposed  spot. 

The  second  letter  awaited  her  at  her  place  of  busi- 
ness. It  was  somewhat  bulky,  and  addressed  in  a 
picturesquely  straggling  hand.  When  she  found 
time  to  open  the  large,  square  envelope,  she  saw 
within  several  type-written  sheets  and  a  holograph 
letter  of  many  pages.  They  seemed  to  have  been 
stuffed  into  the  cover  in  any  sort  of  order,  for  the 
one  that  first  came  under  her  hand  plunged,  with- 
out explanation,  into  the  midst  of  a  subject  that 
was  totally  strange  to  her.  Beneath  a  line  of  small 
type  came  a  heading  in  capital  letters,  suggesting 
an  extract  from  a  newspaper: 

THE  HOLBORN  SENSATION 

POLICE  DESCEIPTIOTT  OF  WANTED  MKN" 

Shirley  glanced  upwards  at  the  first  line  on  the 
sheet,  which  stated  in  fact  that  what  followed  had 
been  copied  from  The  Standard,  of  a  date  in  the 
late  summer  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  eighty- 
nine. 

"Scotland  Yard,"  it  ran,  "has  issued  a  description 
of  two  men  who  are  'wanted'  in  connexion  with  the 
mysterious  affair  in  Tewkesbury  Court,  Holborn. 
Enquiries  at  the  agents  from  whom  the  house  was 


134     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

leased  disclose  that  the  first  of  these  two  men, 
Archibald  Gedge,  was  the  person  who  conducted  the 
negotiations  and  signed  the  agi-eement.  The  second 
is  clearly  he  who  opened  the  door  to  the  neighbour, 
Mr.  Garden,  on  Wednesday  night  last.  We  append 
the  descriptions  in  question: 

(1)     Archibald  Gedge.  .  .  . 

The  copy  broke  off  at  this  point  in  two  lines  of 
dots,  and  then  resumed,  this  time  in  red  letters, 
to  stimulate  the  special  attention  of  the  reader,  no 
doubt : 

"(2)  A  well-dressed  man,  about  forty  years  of 
age.  Height:  medium.  Build:  somewhat  fleshy. 
Complexion:  fresh.  Hair:  light  brown,  cut  short 
and  smoothly  brushed.  Eyes :  blue  or  grey.  Clean- 
shaven face.  Talks  in  a  quiet,  educated  voice,  with- 
out gestures.  Has  a  misshapen  right  eai",  presenting 
the  appearance  of  the  upper  portion  having  been 
cut  away  to  the  depth  of  half  an  inch.  .  .  ." 

The  last  two  lines  had  been  heavily  underscored 
in  the  copy  with  black  ink. 

At  this  point  Shirley  put  the  sheet  down  on  the 
mantel  by  which  she  was  standing,  with  a  tolerant 
smile;  picked  up  the  written  letter,  read  the  fan- 
tastic signature  of  Gathome  Burrell,  and  smiled 
again.  The  reason  for  her  amusement  was  suffi- 
ciently obvious.  Plainly  Burrell's  object  in  send- 
ing her  these  documents  was  to  convince  her  that 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      135 

the  unknown  malefactor  was  Sir  Edward  Talbot; 
and  one  needed  no  jnore  than  a  moderate  knowledge 
of  arithmetic  to  perceive  that  this  was  grotesquely 
impossible.  From  the  date  of  the  extracts  it  was 
to  be  seen  that  the  criminal,  if  still  alive,  must  be 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  seventy  years 
of  age;  and  if  Edward  Talbot  had  reached  his  forty- 
fifth  birthday,  that  must  be  the  extreme  limit  of  possi- 
bility. With  his  unwrinkled  skin  and  alert  bearing, 
it  was  improbable  that  he  was  actually  more  than 
forty — the  age  of  the  well-dressed  man  of  Tewkes- 
bury Court  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  eighty-nine. 
The  descriptive  particulars  of  hair,  eyes,  stature  and 
complexion  were  as  commonplace  and  colourless  as 
these  things  generally  are.  Nothing  in  the  picture 
presented  reminded  one  of  Talbot  more  than  of 
thousands  of  other  men  seen  about  the  streets  daily, 
except  the  peculiarity  of  the  right  ear ;  and  on  such 
a  flimsy  foundation  as  this  only  a  very  dull  kind 
of  malice  or  downright  madness  could  be  excused 
for  establishing  the  identity  of  a  popular  middle- 
aged  man  of  to-day  with  an  obscure  fugitive  from 
justice  of  thirty  years  ago. 

Four  foolscap  sheets  of  typewriting  remained  still 
unread,  and  the  girl  cast  her  eyes  over  them  in 
careless  curiosity.  They  purported  to  be  taken  from 
the  same  newspaper,  and  were  dated  two  days  prev- 
iously to  the  other  extract: 


136     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

MYSTERIOUS  OUTRAGE  I^  HOUBORN" 

"The  attention  of  the  police  is  engaged  by  a 
strange  and  shocking  discovery,  made  in  the  early 
hours  of  yesterday  morning  in  Tewkesbury  Court, 
Holbom.  Tewkesbury  Court  is  a  small  paved  square 
to  the  north  of  the  main  street,  guarded  from  wheeled 
traffic  at  either  end  by  rows  of  iron  posts.  It  con- 
tains between  thirty  and  forty  narrow,  four-storeyed 
buildings  of  considerable  age;  most  of  which  are 
used  during  the  hours  of  daylight  as  commercial 
and  professional  offices.  Three  or  four  are  unoc- 
cupied; and  one  (number  seven)  is  the  dwelling 
house  and  office  combined  of  Mr.  George  Cai'den,  a 
member  of  the  Institute  of  Civil  Engineers.  Mr. 
Carden  is  a  bachelor,  and  his  servants  sleep  out; 
so  that,  as  he  explained  in  conversation  with  our 
representative,  he  has  always  imagined  himself  to  be, 
after  ten  o'clock  at  night,  at  the  latest,  the  only 
occupant  of  the  court,  except,  it  may  be,  for  an 
occasional  caretaker.  Wednesday  night  was,  it  will 
be  remembered,  exceedingly  close;  and  Mr.  Carden, 
being  unable  to  sleep,  dressed  and  went  out  into  the 
square  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air  at  about  half  past 
eleven.  The  place  was  as  quiet  and  deserted  as  it 
always  is  at  such  an  hour;  and  he  had  paced  up  and 
down  for  ten  minutes  or  so  before  his  attention 
was  called  to  a  muffled  sound  of  music,  which  ap- 
parently proceeded  from  one  of  the  houses  at  the 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      137 

end  of  the  coui-t  furthest  from  Holborn.  The  un- 
usualness  of  this  so  surprised  him  that  he  paused 
in  his  walk  and  made  an  effort  to  locate  the  sounds 
more  exactly;  finally  deciding  that  thej  issued  from 
number  twenty-four,  twenty-five  or  twenty-six.  The 
nature  of  the  music  performed  was,  he  says,  im- 
possible to  appreciate  accurately,  on  account  of  its 
faintness;  but  he  is  of  opinion  that  it  may  have 
been  produced  by  an  harmonium  or  a  powerful  ac- 
cordian.  The  affair  struck  him  as  strange,  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  no  light  was  to  be  seen  in  any  of 
the  houses;  and  for  some  time  after  the  music 
ceased  he  remained  at  that  end  of  Tewkesbury  Court, 
waiting  for  any  further  developments.  Some  little 
time  later  he  was  startled  by  a  new  sound,  as  of  a 
human  cry  of  distress,  deadened  by  distance,  or 
by  a  succession  of  intervening  obstacles.  It  was  re- 
peated twice,  and  was  followed  by  a  silence;  and 
Mr.  Garden  had  now  convinced  himself  that  it  came 
from  number  twenty-five.  Although  the  cries  had 
been  insufficient  to  seriously  alann  him,  he  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  house  and  listened  at  the  front 
door;  and  within  a  few  minutes  he  heard  similar 
screams,  but  louder  and  shriller  than  before,  and 
repeated  a  great  number  of  times.  His  first  idea, 
that  they  were  uttered  by  a  woman  in  travail,  was 
negatived  by  two  memories:  firstly,  that  he  was 
sure  no  family  occupied  the  house  in  the  day  time, 
and   secondly  that  he  had   so  recently  heard   the 


138     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

soTind  of  music  in  the  same  quarter.  Apprehen- 
sive, therefore,  of  something  being  wrong,  he  ap- 
plied himself  vigorously  to  the  knocker  and  bell; 
and  his  summons  was  very  shortly  answered  by  a 
gentleman  whom  he  is  able  to  describe  in  some  detail. 
This  person  was  in  ordinary  evening  dress  of  good 
cut,  and  was  smoking  a  cigar ;  and  Mr.  Garden  repre- 
sents his  manner  as  having  been  totally  unmoved  and 
ceremoniously  polite.  On  hearing  the  cause  of  the 
visit,  he  laughed  and  expressed  his  regret  that  Mr. 
Garden  had  been  disturbed.  The  house,  he  said, 
had  been  lately  taken  over  as  a  club  by  a  society  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  interested  in  music  and  the 
stage.  Many  of  the  members  were  of  the  dramatic 
profession,  so  that  their  meetings  were  necessarily 
held  at  late  hours;  and  the  sounds  which  had  per- 
turbed his  neighbour  were  caused  by  an  instrumental 
concert,  followed  by  the  performance  of  scenes  from 
a  play.  Mr.  Garden,  he  said,  was  quite  at  liberty,  if 
he  felt  any  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  their  occu- 
pations, to  come  up  and  join  them.  A  considerable 
number  of  members  was  present,  and  they  would 
be  glad  to  receive  him,  he  was  sure.  His  manner 
entirely  reassured  Mr.  Garden,  particularly  as  the 
house,  now  that  the  door  was  open  was  perfectly 
quiet ;  and,  apologising  for  his  intrusion,  he  returned 
to  his  own  home.  During  the  brief  conversation,  the 
unknown  man  had  stood  sideways  in  the  half-opened 
doorway,  presenting  only  his  profile  to  the  enquirer ; 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      139 

but  a  gas  light  was  burning  in  the  hall,  by  which 
Mr.  Garden  could  see  him  fairly  clearly;  and  he 
is  convinced  that  he  would  recognise  him,  were 
they  to  meet  again.  He  particularly  observed  one 
distinctive  peculiarity;  a  curious  deformity  of  the 
right  ear.  The  man  gave  a  general  impression  of 
belonging  to  the  rich  and  cultivated  class.  Mr. 
Garden  returned  to  his  rooms ;  but,  for  some  reason 
which  he  cannot  quite  explain,  he  did  not  feel  wholly 
comfortable  about  the  affair,  once  removed  from 
the  presence  of  the  specious  stranger;  and  for  som.e 
time  he  remained  seated  at  the  open  window  of  his 
bedroom,  overlooking  the  court,  which  was  lighted 
by  a  single  central  lamp-post,  and  watching  from 
the  darkness  of  the  apartment  the  door  of  number 
twenty-five.  He  had  not  been  so  engaged  for  long 
before  he  observed  it  to  open  for  a  few  inches,  slowly 
and  cautiously,  and  then  close  again;  and  after  a 
pause  of  some  minutes  it  reopened,  and  a  number 
of  persons  emerged,  apparently  of  both  sexes.  Con- 
sidering the  warmth  of  the  night,  it  struck  him  that 
they  were  all  rather  heavily  muffled  in  cloaks  and 
coats.  Some  carried  bundles ;  and  none  spoke  loudly 
enough  for  a  sound  to  reach  his  ears,  a  singularly 
unnecessary  precaution  for  innocent  folk  in  this 
practically  uninhabited  square.  What  chiefly  dis- 
turbed him,  however,  was  that  the  whole  party  of 
perhaps  two  dozen  persons,  instead  of  taking  their 
way  homewards  through  the  lighted  thoroughfare 


140     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

of  Holbom,  where  hansoms  were  still  to  be  hired, 
disappeared  by  twos  and  threes  into  the  mnrkv  and 
intricate  byways  which  lie  between  the  north  of 
Tewkesbury  Court  and  Olerkenwell.  The  whole 
business  struck  him  as  so  bizarre  that  his  suspicions 
returned;  and,  having  once  more  dressed,  he  went 
and  related  his  experiences  to  the  policeman  at  the 
comer  of  Gray's  Inn  Eoad.  This  officer  was  suf- 
ficiently impressed  to  enlist  the  aid  of  a  fellow-con- 
stable; and  the  party  of  three  proceeded  to  the  sus- 
pected house.  The  front  door  had  been  pulled  to, 
but  not  latched;  and  the  investigators  entered  the 
hall,  where  the  gas  still  flared.  Here  an  imme- 
diately shocking  discovery  was  made.  A  disordered 
heap  of  draperies,  some  of  rich  stuffs,  had  been 
thrown  on  a  wooden  bench;  and,  on  lifting  these, 
there  was  revealed,  lying  on  its  face,  the  unconscious 
form  of  a  young  woman.  Mr.  Garden  states  that 
she  was  entirely  nude,  with  her  long,  dark  hair  loose, 
and  seemed  to  have  been  outrageously  mishandled. 
He  speaks  of  livid  marks  about  both  wrists,  a  great 
number  of  red  weals  on  the  back,  and  scorched  skin 
peeling  from  the  soles  of  the  feet,  both  of  which  had 
been  terribly  burnt  The  police  despatched  him 
forthwith  for  an  ambulance;  and  when  he  returned 
with  it,  the  unfortunate  woman  was  taken  as  speed- 
ily as  possibly  to  Saint  Bartholomew's  hospital,  where 
she  now  lies  in  a  precarious  condition.  All  three 
had  believed  that  she  was  dead  when  they  found  her; 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      141 

but  we  understand  that  there  is  some  hope  that  she 
may  recover  from  her  injuries.  Of  the  further  dis- 
coveries in  Tewkesbury  Court  Mr.  Garden  was  not 
able  to  tell  our  representative  anything;  he  was  not 
penaiitted  to  see  more,  himself;  and  the  police,  we 
are  informed,  consider  it  essential  to  maintain  the 
greatest  reticence  in  the  matter,  in  view  of  certain 
clues  to  the  perpetrators  of  the  outrage.  The  wild- 
est rumours  are  afloat  as  to  the  nature  of  the  noc- 
turnal doings  which  Mr.  Garden  interrupted;  and 
it  is  freely  hinted,  on  what  evidence  we  are  unaware, 
that  persons  well-known  in  society  were  of  the  secret 
party  of  malefactors.  Until  further  data  are  avail- 
able, however,  it  is  fruitless  to  speculate,  and  prac- 
tically impossible  to  construct  a  theory  that  will  sat- 
isfy all  the  circumstances." 

Beneath  this  odd  tale,  a  note  was  added  in  Bur- 
rell's  handwriting: 

"The  girl  died  in  hospital,  without  recovering 
consciousness;  and  the  police  have  never  yet  made 
an  arrest  or  issued  any  further  statement." 

Before  she  had  finished  reading  the  account  of 
these  sinister  actions,  the  interest  of  Shirley  was  ap- 
parently engaged,  for  she  turned  back  once  or  twice 
to  re-read  a  phrase  or  line;  and,  when  there  was  no 
more,  she  even  picked  up  Burrell's  letter  in  a  hesi- 
tating manner,  as  if  to  seek  in  it  some  explanation 
of  the  puzzle.  But  after  a  brief  consideration  she 
tore  the  whole  of  the  papers  across,  dropped  them 


142     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

into  the  fire  by  which  she  had  been  standing,  and 
went  about  her  duties  as  usual. 

At  this  time  of  the  year  it  was  completely  dark 
by  the  time  the  shop  closed ;  and  at  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  the  end  of  her  working  day  Shirley 
was  passing  the  high  windows  which  looked  out  from 
the  first  floor  on  to  South  Molton  Street,  when  she 
stopped  abruptly  and  remained  for  some  seconds  gaz- 
ing down  at  the  opposite  pavement.  A  street  lamp 
confronted  the  windows  of  Delbruck's,  and  almost 
beneath  it,  and  partly  illuminated  by  its  rays,  a  man 
in  a  bowler  hat  and  a  heavy  frieze  ulster  was  stand- 
ing motionless,  the  pallor  of  his  face,  in  which  no 
features  could  be  made  out,  raised  towards  the  win- 
dow at  which  the  girl  had  paused.  She  passed  back 
into  the  room ;  but  came  back  again,  and  once  again, 
at  intervals  to  her  post  of  observation ;  and  on  each 
occasion  the  watcher  still  stood  immovably  on  the 
same  spot.  Finally  Shirley  called  one  of  the  ap- 
prentices to  her. 

"Miss  Dallas,"  she  said,  "I  wonder  if  you'd  mind 
asking  Sergeant  Carey  to  get  me  a  taxi?  I've  got 
to  put  my  things  on,  and  I'm  rather  in  a  hurry." 

Five  minutes  later  the  uniformed  commissionaire 
came  upstairs  to  tell  her  that  the  cab  was  waiting; 
and  it  was  under  his  escort  that  she  emerged  into 
the  December  darkness.  Gathome  Burrell  was 
standing  only  a  few  yards  away,  watching  the  door- 
way; and  as  she  passed  through  it  he  stepped  hur- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     143 

riedly  forward,  as  if  to  intercept  her;  but  the  stal- 
wart Carey,  under  previous  instructions,  bundled 
her  hastily  into  safety,  and  passed  an  address  to  the 
driver  in  an  undertone,  remaining  himself  standing 
between  Burrell  and  the  cab  until  it  drove  away. 
The  young  man,  pale  and  distraught  of  countenance, 
preserved  for  a  few  moments  an  irresolute  posture, 
staring  into  the  sergeant's  eyes  with  a  kind  of  va- 
cant anger,  while  his  lips  moved  noiselessly;  but  as 
the  ex-soldier  returned  his  gaze  with  a  contemptuous 
fixity,  he  turned  away,  and  with  a  dragging  step 
retreated  along  the  diminishing  line  of  lamps,  un- 
til he  vanished  round  the  corner  of  Brook  Street. 
Carey,  squaring  his  shoulders  anew  and  giving  a 
twist  to  his  moustaches,  returned  to  his  post  on  the 
shop  steps,  where  he  remained  passing  a  word  or  two 
to  the  girls  who  began  to  troop  out  singly  or  in 
pairs.  All  around,  similar  prisons  were  having 
a  gaol  delivery.  The  dim  street  was  full  of  chatter 
and  laughter  and  the  tap  of  boot  heels. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SIR  EDWARD'S  car  arrived  before  its  time 
in  Wigmore  Street  on  the  following  Saturday; 
so  that  Shirley's  luggage  was  strapped  behind  it, 
and  a  start  made  almost  as  five  o'clock  was  striking. 
In  accordance  with  the  advice  contained  in  the  letter 
of  invitation,  the  girl  was  muffled  up  into  the  sem- 
blance of  a  brown  bear,  and  had  swathed  her  head  in 
a  thick  veil;  precaution  wisely  taken,  for  the  still 
air  was  fiercely  cold,  and  the  car  an  open  four- 
seater of  very  high  power.  The  ease  with  which 
this  mighty  engine,  with  its  light  body,  devoured 
the  hills,  the  stormy  speed  with  which  it  flew,  scream- 
ing like  a  shell  from  a  gun,  over  open  common-lands, 
silently  down  glimmering  high  roads,  or  barking 
through  narrow  village  streets,  kept  an  icy  gale  con- 
stantly whistling  past  the  passenger's  ears;  so  that, 
despite  the  warmth  of  her  clothing,  she  snuggled 
down  among  the  fur  rugs  with  which  the  tonneau 
was  filled.  Passing  through  Tonbridge,  the  driver, 
slightly  reducing  speed,  asked  over  his  shoulder  if  she 
would  like  the  hood  raised ;  and  Shirley,  agreeing, 
completed  her  journey  more  or  less  blindly.  In  these 
black  recesses,  buried   in  the  warmth  of  the  soft 

skins,  she  fell  into  a  drowse,  from  which  she  did  not 

144 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      145 

fully  wake  until  tlie  car  stopped,  and  the  driver 
dismounted  from  his  seat  to  open  an  almost  invisible 
white  gate.  Thereafter  the  road  ran  steeply  up- 
wards, between  dark  bushes,  which  were  set  so  closely 
together  that  the  car,  as  it  climbed,  brushed  against 
them  on  either  side  with  a  continuous  rustle,  like 
the  sound  of  an  incoming  tide  on  a  quiet  beach. 
Presently  they  seemed  to  pass  through  a  little  wood ; 
for  the  tyres  crackled  over  twigs  and  needles,  and  there 
was  a  faint  smell  of  pine.  Emerging  from  this, 
they  halted  finally  in  front  of  a  door,  beside  which, 
on  a  stone  bracket,  a  large,  roughly  made  lantern 
of  brass  sheltered  a  single  candle.  By  this  feeble 
illumination  could  be  made  out  the  interior  of  a 
flagged  Greek  portico  of  some  height.  Beyond  this 
there  was  little  to  be  seen,  for  the  head-lamps  of  the 
car,  obscured  to  a  point  which  was  positively  a  danger 
to  those  in  the  care  of  so  furious  a  driver,  cast 
but  a  pale  and  inconsiderable  fan  of  gold  across  the 
terrace.  The  night  was  pitchy  dark.  Not  a  star 
was  to  be  seen ;  nor  did  any  sound  reach  the  ear 
beyond  the  throb  of  the  engine,  which  the  chauffeur 
left  running,  while  he  busied  himself  with  the  lug- 
gage. The  house  itself  was  a  mere  blind-eyed,  in- 
determinate mass  of  grey  against  the  blackness.  It 
was  impossible  to  guess  its  size  or  form. 

Before  the  bags  had  all  been  carried  into  the  porch, 
the  front-door  was  set  open,  and  a  man-servant,  ex- 
tricating Shirley  from  her  burrow,  shewed  her  into 


146      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

the  entrance  hall,  a  wide  and  shallow  room,  stone- 
floored,  chill,  obscure,  surrounded  by  several  doors, 
and  containing  neither  furniture  nor  decoration  be- 
yond a  big  round  table  of  oak  and  a  splendid  fire- 
place of  carved  marble,  on  whose  great  iron  dogs, 
however,  no  welcoming  logs  flamed.  Plainly  the 
place  was  used  solely  as  a  vestibule ;  and  Shirley  re- 
garded it  with  dispirited  eyes. 

"Miss  Crassle  ?"  asked  the  servant  perfunctorily. 

"Yes." 

"This  way,  please." 

His  pronunciation  and  the  quality  of  his  voice,  in 
saying  these  few  words,  were  both  unmistakably  ex- 
otic. The  vowels  were  very  open,  the  dental  almost 
sibilant,  the  general  intonation  what  is  loosely  de- 
scribed as  nasal ;  and  he  seemed  to  speak  with  a  curi- 
ous relish,  both  idle  and  luxurious.  Shirley  shot 
a  glance  at  him  as  he  opened  one  of  the  numerous 
doors  and  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass.  He  was  a  tall, 
finely  built  young  man,  dressed  in  a  silver-buttoned, 
swallow-tailed  suit,  with  a  high  waistcoat  of  black 
and  white  striped  stuff,  and  a  white  tie.  His  com- 
plexion was  of  a  rich  cream  colour,  his  nose  rather 
flat,  his  lips  broad  and  pale,  his  abundant  hair  jet 
black  and  crisply  waving.  There  was  no  depth  in 
the  brown  eyes,  the  whites  of  which  were  faintly 
tinged  with  violet ;  nor  could  any  expression  be  read 
into  their  brightness,  except,  possibly,  a  hint  of  sen- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      147 

suality;  but  bis  smile  was  botb  candid  and  agree- 
able. 

Having  shut  the  door  of  tbe  vestibule  behind  them, 
he  took  the  lead,  and  conducted  Shirley  up  a  nar- 
row, carpeted  stair-case,  along  a  short  corridor, 
lighted  by  a  hanging  oil-lamp,  into  a  large  bedroom 
on  the  second  floor  of  the  house.  After  the  chilly 
darkness  of  the  journey,  and  the  unfriendliness  of 
the  hall,  this  retreat  offered,  by  contrast,  a  most  in- 
viting picture,  with  its  snugly  cloaked  windows,  its 
wide,  low  bed,  draped  in  an  embroidered  coverlet,  its 
white-panelled  walls,  Persian  carpet  and  grey  satin- 
wood  furniture.  A  fire  sang  gladly  to  itself,  there 
were  flowers  on  the  mantel,  and  the  big  arm-chair 
and  couch  were  dressed  in  enlivening  chintz.  Three 
mirrors,  in  different  parts  of  the  room,  tossed  its 
reflection  backwards  and  forwards  to  each  other,  and 
multiplied  the  golden  flames  of  a  dozen  or  more 
candles,  which  burnt  in  ormolu  sconces  on  the  wood- 
en walls.  Any  sombre  impression  that  might  have 
been  created  by  the  bleakness  of  the  entrance  must 
have  been  at  once  put  to  flight  by  the  sight  of  a  cham- 
ber so  warm,  lively  and  modem.  After  looking 
about  her  for  a  few  moments  with  a  clearing  face, 
the  visitor  came  over  to  the  grateful  fire,  slipping 
her  fur  coat  from  her  shoulders,  and  stood  there  in 
thought  while  the  footman  brought  in  her  baggage. 

"1  think  that's  all.  Miss,"  he  said  in  the  same 


148      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

lazily  voluptuous  manner.  ''I'll  send  Mrs.  Skinner 
to  you  now." 

He  had  not  been  gone  ten  seconds  before  the  per- 
son whom  he  had  named  presented  herself ;  and  Shir- 
ley, turning  at  the  sound  of  her  entry,  gave  a  per- 
fectly audible  gasp  of  alarm,  which  greatly  enter- 
tained the  new-comer.  Mrs.  Skinner  was  as  black 
and  shiny  as  the  unburnt  coals  on  the  fire;  a  small 
and  very  shapely  negress,  of  about  Shirley's  age, 
perhaps,  dressed  in  a  plain  dress  and  apron  of  black 
stuff,  and  pleasant  to  look  upon,  with  the  genial  hid- 
eousness  (according  to  European  standards)  of  her 
race.  After  the  first  shock,  Shirley  greeted  her  with 
apologetic  cordiality. 

"Gustavus  send  me,  Miss,"  the  negress  explained. 
"Your  dinner's  in  half  an  hour.  Shall  I  dress  you 
now.  Miss?" 

She  proved  herself  an  accomplished  tirewoman, 
and  of  a  most  enthusiastic  disposition;  laughing  de- 
lightedly as  she  changed  Shirley's  travelling  dress 
for  an  extremely  scanty  frock  (one  might  almost  have 
supposed  it  to  be  a  chemise)  of  plain  black  satin; 
and  lavishing  the  frankest  and  most  extravagant  com- 
pliments on  the  girl's  arms  and  shoulders,  on  the  fair- 
ness and  satin  smoothness  of  her  skin,  on  her  slim 
hands,  her  narrow,  arched  feet,  her  burnished  hair, 
the  length  of  her  dark  eyelashes,  the  brightness  of 
her  lips  and  eyes,  the  filmy  delicacy  of  her  under- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      149 

clothing,  and  the  glossiness  of  her  black  silk  stock- 
ings— all  with  a  kind  of  barbaric  adoration  which 
seemed,  after  one  or  two  laughing  protests,  to  em- 
barrass and  finally  even  to  annoy  Shirley.  Flatter- 
ing as  such  obviously  genuine  admiration  must  al- 
ways be,  it  was  expressed  with  a  fulsomeness,  and  at 
times  with  a  naturalistic  attention  to  detail,  that 
may  be  supposed  to  be  more  characteristic  of  Africa 
than  of  Great  Britain.  The  black  girl  seemed  to 
gloat  over  the  physical  charms  of  the  white  almost  as 
might  a  glutton  over  some  unusually  appetising  dish ; 
even  essaying  a  form  of  hackneyed  imagery  to  mir- 
ror her  emotions. 

"Snow  at  sun-up  and  snow  at  nooning  and  snow 
at  sundown  the  Lord  took  to  tlie  making  of  you.  Miss, 
honey,"  she  gabbled  in  her  labial  twang.  "Snow  hill 
and  snow  valley,  grass  gone  golden  in  Fall,  and  lil 
blue  streams  wandering  in  the  sunshine;  pink  shells 
off  of  the  sea-shore;  apples  and  peaches,  rip'ning 
peaches  and  lil  apples;  all  so  soft  and  warm  and 
smooth  as  a  cat's  fur." 

While  she  thus  rhapsodised,  she  was  kneeling  on 
the  carpet  at  Shirley's  feet ;  and,  her  task  completed, 
she  pressed  her  thick  lips  humbly  to  the  hand  which 
hung  nearest  to  her.  Shirley,  instinctively  shrink- 
ing from  the  contact,  spoke  with  hurried  politeness. 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  shan't  want  anything 
else." 


150      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

''I'm  to  shew  you  the  way  downstairs,  Miss.  Will 
you  call  'Kate'  when  you  want  me?  I'll  be  right 
outside  the  door." 

"I'll  come  now." 

Along  the  quiet  corridor  they  passed,  and  down  a 
new  flight  of  stairs,  at  the  foot  of  which  Mrs.  Skin- 
ner, still  smiling  and  fawning,  delivered  her  charge 
into  the  care  of  a  butler  who  was  there  awaiting 
them — Mr.  Jerome,  as  the  negress  informed  Shirley 
in  a  whisper.  This  man  was  of  middle  height 
and  spare ;  his  dark  hair  was  becomingly  frosted  with 
silver,  and  his  wide  mouth  had  fallen  a  little  inwards 
with  the  passage  of  the  years.  There  was  nothing 
remarkable  in  his  aspect,  beyond  a  rather  lugubrious 
gravity;  but  his  accent,  when  he  spoke,  was  odd, 
bearing  traces  of  a  combined  Latin  and  American 
origin. 

"Sir  Edward  is  not  quite  ready  yet.  Miss.  He 
told  me  to  make  his  excuses,  and  ask  if  you  would 
kindly  wait  for  him  in  the  library." 

So  saying,  he  ushered  Shirley  into  an  empty  room, 
lofty  and  spacious,  which  distilled  that  stimulatingly 
mouldering  smell  connected  with  old  books,  and 
wheeled  a  chair  for  her  up  to  the  hearth.  Closely 
packed  shelves  covered  the  walls  to  the  height  of 
about  eight  feet,  and  above  them  a  number  of  ob- 
scure pictures  in  tarnished  gilt  frames  figured  dimly 
against  a  background  of  claret-coloured  paper.  A 
brass  candelabrum  hung  from  the  middle  of  the  ceil- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      151 

ing,  but  the  light  which  its  candles  gave  scarcely 
reached  the  outlying  parts  of  the  room.  The  furni- 
ture was  massive  and  sober;  mahogany  and  brown 
leather  met  the  eye  in  every  direction;  and,  except 
for  the  pictures,  there  was  nothing  present  of  a  purely 
decorative  character  beyond  a  squad  of  little  statu- 
ettes and  busts  or  heads,  some  of  terra  cotta,  others 
of  a  greenish  stone,  set  up  on  flat  bases  or  tiny  ped- 
estals of  verde-antique,  which  were  ranged  along  the 
high  marble  mantel. 

"I'll  get  some  more  wood  for  the  fire,  Miss," 
Jerome  announced,  after  a  glance  at  the  incan- 
descent mass;  and  noiselessly  left  Shirley  to  her- 
self. 

As  the  latch  clicked  behind  him,  she  picked  up  an 
evening  paper  which  he  had  laid  on  the  arm  of  her 
chair,  glanced  at  the  head-lines,  laid  it  down  again, 
and  looked  quickly  behind  her,  first  over  the  right, 
and  then  the  left,  shoulder.  Beyond  the  circle  of 
amber  candle-light,  the  place  was  packed  with  shad- 
ows, which  furtively  shifted  and  altered  in  form 
under  a  close  scrutiny.  There  are  people  who  find 
wavering  shadows  but  indifferent  company  to  their 
solitude;  and  the  pictures,  moreover,  were  the  re- 
verse of  heartening.  They  were  chiefly  of  the 
Spanish  school ;  heads  of  pale,  sensual  men  in  black 
velvet  tunics ;  monks  or  hermits  assailed  by  demons ; 
martyrs  enduring  their  torments.  'None  were  of  any 
great  merit,  and  one  or  two  were  mere  copies  of  well- 


152      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

known  works  by  Morales  and  Zurbaran.  The  pig- 
ments had  cracked  and  the  accumulations  of  varnish 
blackened  with  age,  until  it  was  hard,  in  some  in- 
stances, to  make  out  the  subject  at  all.  The  best 
preserved,  a  full  length  figure  hung  over  a  writing 
table  in  a  space  between  two  bookshelves,  represented 
a  beggar,  tattered  and  filthy,  peeping  out  through  a 
rent  in  a  great  black  cloak  with  which  he  hid  his 
face.  But  one  eye  was  visible,  the  bright  glance 
of  which  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  or  ignore.  On 
the  whole,  the  saloon,  although  a  handsome  and  dig- 
nified place  enough,  was  likely  to  strike  a  highly- 
strung  and  solitary  person,  accustomed  to  the  stir 
and  company  of  cities,  as  a  little  lowering  to  the 
spirits.  Shirley  found  so  much  to  look  at  behind  her 
chair  that  the  newspaper  remained  unread;  while 
patent  relief  sprang  to  her  face  at  the  return  of  Je- 
rome, bearing  a  basket  of  logs,  which  he  proceeded, 
with  a  meticulous  deliberation,  to  build  into  a  pyre 
over  the  glowing  coals.  His  movements,  as  he  bent 
to  his  work,  were  so  discreet  that  hardly  a  sound 
broke  the  breathless  silence  that  filled  the  house ;  and 
Shirley,  after  contemplating  his  humped  posture  for 
some  seconds  with  an  irritable  contraction  of  the  eye- 
brows, broke  into  speech. 

"I  thought,  from  what  Sir  Edward  said,  that  there 
was  to  be  a  house-party." 

The  butler  courteously  stayed  his  labours,  and 
straightened  his  back  before  replying. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      153 

"That  is  so,  Miss.  Some  of  the  guests  will  be 
down  here  very  soon." 

"Ladies  ?     How  many  ?" 

"In  the  party,  Miss?  I'm  not  quite  certain.  A 
goodish  number." 

Silence  ensuing,  he  returned  to  the  disposal  of  the 
wood,  while  the  girl,  her  forehead  smooth  again, 
made  a  fresh  attack  on  the  news ;  but  it  might  have 
been  supposed  that  the  servant's  tacit  ministrations 
worried  her,  for  in  another  minute  she  spoke  once 
more. 

"How  quiet  it  is  here!  Of  course,  I'm  accus- 
tomed to  London." 

"Yes,  Miss,"  Jerome  agreed,  facing  her  at  once,  a 
log  in  one  hand.     "The  house  stands  very  solitary." 

"Oh  ?     There's  no  village,  then  ?" 

"No  village,  Miss ;  and  no  other  big  house  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood." 

"Really?  But  Eye's  not  far  off — where  the  sta- 
tion is?" 

"Where  the  station  is,  Miss,  yes.  Four  miles,  or 
perhaps  a  little  more." 

He  held  her  with  his  dismal  eyes  for  a  while,  as 
if  to  make  sure  that  no  more  questions  were  forth- 
coming. Then,  having  laid  the  last  billet  in  place, 
he  gently  dusted  his  hands  together,  picked  up  his 
basket,  and  moved  towards  the  door.  Before  he 
reached  it,  Shirtey  stopped  him  with  an  enquiry,  put 
with  shame-faced  carelessness. 


164.      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"There  are  farms  and  cottages  about,  naturally  ?" 

"Yes,  Miss." 

"Close  ?"  she  added  swiftly,  as  he  turned  away. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  ?" 

"Have  you  any  cottages  close  to  the  house  ?" 

"The  grounds  are  a  fair  size,  Miss.  There's  a 
farm  just  beyond  them,  to  the  east — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  Shirley  started  in  her 
chair.  The  door  had  opened  and  shut  softly,  and 
Sir  Edward  Talbot  was  half  way  across  the  room. 
Abreast  of  Jerome  he  paused  for  a  moment,  moving 
his  eyes  from  the  butler  to  the  guest  and  back  again ; 
then,  dismissing  the  servant  with  a  nod,  he  came  up 
to  Shirley,  holding  out  his  hand  with  a  smile  of  wel- 
come. 

"So  here  you  really  are!  How  nice  of  you  to 
come!  I  always  had  a  vague  fear  that  you  might 
break  your  promise  at  the  last  moment — you're  such 
a  volatile  person — and  we  should  all  have  been  in- 
consolable." 

He  was  in  evening  dress,  with  a  dinner  jacket  and 
black  tie ;  and  his  empty  eyes  seemed  more  brilliantly 
translucent  than  ever,  as  he  cordially  shook  hands. 
The  smile  on  his  smooth  face  was,  however,  little 
more  than  formal. 

"I'm  sorry  I  wasn't  able  to  welcome  you  in  person 
on  your  arrival.  But  I  hope  you've  been  properly 
looked  after." 

"Oh  yes." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     155 

"Oh  yes?"  he  repeated,  good-temperedly  mimick- 
ing her  unenthusiastic  tone. 

"Quite,  thanks,"  she  assured  him ;  and  then,  laugh- 
ing rather  fretfully,  gave  an  explanation.  "I'm  glad 
you've  come,  though,  Sir  Edward.  I  was  beginning 
to  feel  a  little — I  don't  know — sorry  for  myself." 

"How's  that?" 

"Oh,  nothing!  It  was  silly  of  me.  .  .  .  Every- 
thing seems  so  awfully  quiet  here." 

"Well,  well !     After  Wigmore  Street — " 

"I  know;  but  I  don't  only  mean  that.  The  house 
feels  empty,  somehow;  there  doesn't  even  seem  to  be 
a  clock.  You  see,  I  expected  to  walk  into  the  middle 
of  a  lot  of  people." 

"They're  mustering  by  degrees.  Two  of  them  will 
be  with  us  almost  at  once — Madame  Ladmirault  and 
her  daughter,  Olga.  You'll  like  them,  I  think. 
Madame,  perhaps,  is  a  little  too  girlish  in  dress ;  but 
it  shews  a  fresh  mind,  after  all,  and  she's  a  lively, 
clever  woman.  Olga  is  a  recent  recruit  to  our  num- 
bers. .  .  .  You  speak  French,  of  course?" 

"Oh  no!     Hardly  at  all." 

"Eeally?  Well,  Madame  Ladmirault  talks  Eng- 
lish perfectly,  but  Olga,  I'm  afraid,  knows  only  her 
own  language.  However,  I  doubt  if  she'd  say  a 
great  deal,  in  any  case — a  dreamy,  shy  young  per- 
son. One  would  hardly  take  her  to  be  a  grown-up. 
Probably  we  four  shall  be  alone  at  dinner,  but  the 
others  arrive  soon  after.  ...  So  you  began  to  sus- 


156      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

pect  me  of  arranging  a  three  days'  tete-a-tete  with 
you,  under  false  pretences  ?" 

"Of  course  not!"  protested  Shirley,  the  note  of 
resentment  still  in  her  voice. 

"Some  one  has  to  be  the  first  to  arrive ;  and,  thanks 
to  the  fiery  zeal  of  my  chauffeur,  it  happened  to  be 
you.     Sit  down  again,  do!" 

She  obeyed,  and  he  remained  standing  by  the  man- 
tel, gazing  down  on  her.  So  long  as  she  studied  the 
carpet  in  pouting  silence,  he  watched  her  with  im- 
movable solemnity ;  but  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  the 
gravity  of  his  face  softened  into  a  restrained  amuse- 
ment. 

"You  have  a  dreadfully  suspicious  mind,"  he  told 
her.  "But  a  few  minutes  more  will  prove  my  hona 
fides.  I'm  assuming  that  the  presence  of  two  other 
ladies  will  reassure  you.  Or  would  you  say  that  a 
larger  number  is  necessary  to  keep  up  the  propri- 
eties ?" 

"Don't  tease  me!"  she  pleaded.  "You  found  out, 
long  ago,  how  I  fuss  myself  over  little  things." 

"Of  course  I  won't  tease  you,"  he  promised,  tak- 
ing one  of  the  small  stone  figures  from  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  examining  it  absent-mindedly.  "I'm  only 
too  anxious  that  you  should  be  thoroughly  composed 
before  your  initiation.  It's  essential  that  you  should 
approach  that  with  an  easily  balanced  mind." 

"But  it's  not  to-night?"  she  cried,  in  a  sort  of 
panic. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      157 

He  raised  his  face,  and  looked  on  her  dispassion- 
ately. 

''Certainly  it's  to-night.  I  thought  I'd  made  that 
perfectly  clear  to  you.  The  less  delay,  the  better. 
As  I  told  you  before,  most  of  my  friends  are  pardon- 
ably reticent  about  their  beliefs  and  enthusiasms.  I 
appreciate  the  delicacy  of  this  feeling,  if  I  do  not  my- 
self share  it;  and  I  imagine,  although  they  haven't 
said  so,  that  it  is  the  cause  of  their  absence  from  my 
dinner-table.  They  have  no  ambition  to  provide  fod- 
der for  the  derision,  or  even  the  idle  curiosity,  of 
London,  where  many  of  them  are  pretty  well  known. 
As  for  Madame  Ladmirault  and  her  daughter,  they, 
like  myself,  are  indifferent  to  gossip;  partly,  no 
doubt,  because  they  have  no  great  circle  of  acquaint- 
ance in  this  country.  But  supposing,  in  one  of  the 
fits  of  perversity  that  come  over  you  at  times,  you 
decided  not  to  go  on  with  the  matter,  after  being 
introduced  to  the  others.  I  refuse  to  believe  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  a  thing ;  but  you  know  that  you  have 
always  reserved  the  right  to  do  so,  and  I  have  had 
to  let  my  friends  know  of  the  stipulation.  In  that 
case  you  would  be  able  to  return  to  London  with  a 
list  of  all  the  persons  who  had  taken  part  in  the  pro- 
ceedings here — laden,  in  fact,  with  material  for  hum- 
ourous small-talk  at  the  tea  table." 

''But  I'd  never  say  a  word.  How  can  you 
think—?" 

"I  don't.     But  they,  who  do  not  know  you,  neces- 


158      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

sarily  don't  feel  the  same  confidence  in  your  power 
of  holding  your  tongue.  For  that  reason,  we  may  be- 
lieve, they  prefer  to  postpone  their  introduction  to 
you  until  such  time  as  you  have  given  the  requisite 
hostages,  so  to  speak." 

Still  twirling  the  little  image  between  his  fingers, 
he  spoke  with  a  comfortable  softness;  and  Shirley 
seemed  to  weigh  his  proposition. 

"But,"  she  argued  presently,  "you  told  me  that, 
if  I  didn't  like  it,  I  could  stop  at  any  moment,  even 
after  it  had  begun." 

"I  see  what  you  mean.  Certainly  we  came  to  that 
arrangement,  absurdly  unnecessary  as  it  was.  But 
until  the  meeting  is  finished,  you  will  not  be  aware 
of  the  personalities  of  those  attending  it.  They  will 
be  veiled." 

"Veiled?"  repeated  Shirley,  with  a  catch  of  the 
breath. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Shirley,"  he  beseeched,  with 
mock  horror,  "don't  let  such  a  harmless  word  as  that 
start  you  off  again.  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that 
the  veil  is  a  common  circumstance  of  many  religious 
ceremonies.  After  the  start  you  gave,  I  hardly  dare 
add  that  I  shall  wear  certain  vestments.  Doubtless 
you  fancied  that  I  should  preside  in  tweed  clothes 
and  a  bowler  hat.  You  seem  to  lack  a  sense  of  the 
appropriate." 

His  raillery,  perhaps  a  trifle  less  genial  than  be- 
fore, had  no  visible  effect  on  her  preoccupation. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     159 

'^And  in  case — and  if — "  she  hesitated.  "What 
should  I  do,  if  I  found  I  didn't  want  to  go  on  with 
it?" 

"You  will,"  he  assured  her. 

"Yes  ...  but  if  I  didn't?" 

Sir  Edward  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Presumably,  like  a  sulky  child,  you'd  go  to  bed ; 
and  to-morrow,  before  you  saw  the  people  you'd  dis- 
appointed, my  car  would  take  you  back  to  your  flat." 

She  studied  his  blank  face  with  a  sort  of  wistful 
appeal,  but  he  made  no  further  effort  at  encourage- 
ment or  amplification  of  his  remarks. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said  slowly,  "it  would  be  too  late 
for  me  to  go  home  to-night,  if — " 

"To-night  ?"  he  broke  in  impatiently.  "Start  for 
London,  by  road,  at  midnight,  when  there's  a  bed 
for  you  in  the  house?  What  are  you  thinking  of? 
And  what  in  the  world's  come  over  you,  since  you 
came  into  the  country  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  faltered,  attempting  a  poor 
smile,  which  was  belied  by  a  tremble  in  her  voice. 
"It's  so  creepy  here." 

The  words  came  hurriedly,  and  with  them  an  un- 
mistakable look  of  fear  peeped  out;  an  expression 
which  her  companion  greeted  with  a  curious  smile, 
which,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance, 
began  in  the  luminous  eyes,  and  very  slowly  crept 
down  his  face  until  it  reached  the  comers  of  his 
shaven  lips.     In  motionless  silence  he  watched  her 


160      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

anxious  expression  and  the  restless  movements  of  her 
hands,  like  one  charmed  and  amused  by  the  wayward 
foolishness  of  a  child,  and  loth  to  reduce  it  to  a  com- 
monplace reasonableness  either  by  comfort  or  rebuke. 

"Mmmm?"  he  hummed  at  last,  on  a  prolonged 
note  of  soft  interrogation.  "Creepy?  What  do  you 
find  creepy  ?" 

"]^othing  particular;  but  the  place  itself  is  so 
lonely ;  and  there's  never  a  sound ;  and  I  don't  like 
these  pictures.  And  then  there  was  a  black  girl  who 
gave  me  rather  a  fright." 

"What!  Poor  Kate?  She's  a  most  faithful, 
lively  creature." 

"I  dare  say.  But  I  wasn't  expecting  blacks.  And 
I  didn't  much  like  the  way  she  talked,  either.  .  .  . 
Ajid  the  butler  and  the  footman,  too ;  they're  queer, 
somehow.     I  can't  quite  explain  why." 

"My  dear  Shirley,  you're  rather  insular.  These 
people  have  been  long  in  my  service.  I  brought  them 
to  this  country  with  me,  and  you  could  hardly  ex- 
pect them  to  be  exactly  modelled  on  the  pattern  of  the 
ordinary  English  servant.  Jerome  is  invaluable. 
He  comes  from  Baton  Bouge,  and  is  of  unmixed 
French  descent.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  with- 
out Jerome.  The  knowledge  that  he  is  mortal  chills 
me  at  times.  Kate  and  Gustavus  I  picked  up  in 
Charleston,  ten  years  ago.  He's  a  quadron,  I  fancy ; 
a  very  handy  fellow;  while  Kate,  as  you  saw,  is 
pure  negro.     I  wonder  at  a  girl  of  your  brains  and 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     161 

tolerance  being  disturbed  at  encountering  a  few 
harmless  people,  merely  because  they  are  not  of  your 
race." 

"It's  not  only  that,"  she  maintained.  "Every- 
thing strikes  me  somehow  as  ghostly ;  and  that  black 
girl  petting  me  up  as  if  I  was  going  to.  ...  I  don't 
know.  Jerome  told  me,  too,  that  no  one  else  lives 
near  here." 

"That's  true.  We're  not  within  gunshot  of  the 
nearest  cottage.  But  why  do  you  want  other  houses  ? 
Aren't  you  satisfied  with  your  entertainment  in  this 
one?" 

His  voice  was  again  perfectly  good-humoured  and 
pleasant,  and  Shirley  smiled  constrainedly. 

"You  must  think  me  rather  an  idiot,"  she  apolo- 
gised, "but  strange  places  and  people  often  make  me 
uncomfortable.  I  suppose  I'm  tired,  too."  She 
paused,  and  then  added  appealingly:  "And  then 
the  thought  of  this — my  initiation.  You  won't — I 
know  you  can't — tell  me  much  about  it  beforehand. 
Naturally  I'm  a  little  frightened." 

"Frightened?  But  why?  I  decline  to  believe 
that  a  motor  drive,  or  meeting  a  nigger,  can  shat- 
ter your  nervous  system ;  and  when  you  were  in  Lon- 
don, the  prospect  of  it  didn't  alarm  you  in  the  least." 

"Yes,  it  did;  it  always  did  rather.  You  know  I 
took  a  long  time  to  make  up  my  mind  about  it.  Be- 
sides, it  seemed  so  different  there  .  .  .  just  talking 
about  it  in  my  room,  with  the  electric  light  on,  and 


162     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

things  passing  in  the  street  outside.  .  .  .  And  then 
perhaps  Mr.  Burrell  gave  me  a  shock." 

"Eh  ?"  he  interrupted,  his  voice  becoming  keener, 
though  his  face  remained  unchanged.  ''How  has  he 
been  giving  you  shocks  ?  I  didn't  know  you'd  spoken 
to  him  since  we  were  all  at  the  Cassilis'  together." 

"It  was  only  a  few  days  ago.  We  met  in  the 
park;  and  he  behaved  in  such  an  odd  way,  and 
looked  so  dreadfully  ill  and  mad." 

"But  you  knew  of  the  existence  of  invalids  and 
lunatics  before  that,  I  imagine.  What  has  that  to  do 
with  your  present  position?" 

"Only  that  as  he's  one  of  you.  ..." 
"He  told  you  that?" 
"I  understood  him  to  say  so." 
Sir  Edward  reflected. 

"It  is  true.  He  has  been  admitted,  but  he  never 
got  far.  As  you  saw,  he's  a  very  unbalanced  fellow, 
and  has  given  me  some  trouble.  You  were  witness, 
a  long  time  ago,  of  his  ill-temper  towards  myself, 
you  remember.  Since  then  I've  made  several  efforts 
at  reconciliation.  Indeed,  he  was  invited  here  to- 
night; but,  as  he  has  ignored  the  invitation,  it  looks 
as  if  he  had  not  yet  recovered  his  senses.  ...  So 
this  malicious  boy,  whom  you  recognise  as  being  only 
partly  sane,  has  been  poisoning  your  mind  about  me, 
has  he?" 

"I  wouldn't  let  him ;  I  wouldn't  listen." 
"Then  what  did  he  say  ?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     163 

"Nothing  that  I  remember ;  but  he  terrified  me  at 
the  time ;  and  for  some  reason  I  can't  get  him  out  of 
my  head  to-night." 

"You  seem  to  be  one  of  those  people  who  take  actual 
pleasure  in  scaring  themselves;  and  of  course  it's 
always  possible  to  find  material  for  terror,  if  one's 
determined  to  have  it.  A  solitary  place,  unknown 
companions,  an  unexplained  ceremony,  against  which 
sinister  hints  have  doubtless  been  throvm  out  by  a 
crazy  fellow — oh  yes !  here  we  have  bricks  enough  for 
building  a  haunted  house,  certainly.  The  whole 
point  is  this:  you  are  here  under  my  guarantee,  be- 
cause you  trusted  in  me,  as  a  friend.  May  I  ask 
if  you  trust  me  still  ?" 

"You  know  I  do." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  It  would  be  an  exceedingly 
unpleasant  position  for  you,  if  you  did  not." 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words  with  measured  delib- 
eration, he  turned  on  her  a  long  look,  cold,  glittering 
and  utterly  vacant ;  and  the  girl,  in  an  instant,  became 
as  white  as  paper.  Once  or  twice  her  lips  moved, 
but  no  sound  came  from  them;  and  meanwhile  the 
vacuity  of  Sir  Edward's  expression  was  slowly  trans- 
formed into  the  aspect,  half  amused,  half  breathlessly 
admiring,  which  he  had  once  before  presented  dur- 
ing their  talk.  As  soon  as  the  amusement  was  clearly 
recognisable,  Shirley  found  her  voice,  though  it  was 
a  fluttered  and  gasping  one. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


164      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"I  mean  no  more  than  I  said;  that  it  would  be 
a  very  uncomfortable  thing  for  a  girl  to  have  no  con- 
fidence in  the  man  in  whose  house  she  was  staying, 
under  no  other  protection.  But  you  have  that  con- 
fidence ;  so  there's  no  sense  in  letting  your  nerves  get 
out  of  hand.  We've  been  friends  for  a  considerable 
time,  so  that  you  probably  know  all  that  there  is  to 
be  known  about  me.  Women  so  rapidly  turn  a  man 
inside  out,  I've  been  told.  .  .  .  Among  other  things," 
he  added,  after  staring  into  vacancy  for  a  while,  "you 
must  have  discovered  that  I  am  much  interested  in 
you.  Yet  I  doubt  if  you  realise  Jioiv  much.  .  .  .1 
swear  that  there  is  no  woman  alive  who  means  so 
much  to  me ;  and  there  has  been  only  one  in  the  past 
of  equal  importance." 

The  sudden  intensity  that  he  put  into  his  voice  as 
he  spoke  the  last  sentence  made  his  companion  start. 
It  was  not  the  tone  of  a  man  making  a  declaration 
of  love  to  a  woman ;  it  was  filled  with  a  kind  of  mystic 
exultation,  sombre  yet  eager.  The  next  instant  he 
had  laid  it  aside,  and  was  saying  tranquilly : 

"For  that  reason  I  have  stepped  out  of  my  ordinary 
paths  to  take  you  in  hand,  to  try  and  make  the  world 
rather  more  enlivening  to  you  than  you  found  it  be- 
fore we  met.     You  tell  me  I  have  succeeded." 

"Rather !"  she  hastened  to  reply,  as  if  ashamed  of 
an  ingratitude.  "I've  been  quite  a  different  crea- 
ture, since  you  began  to  teach  me." 

"Can  you  tell  me  why  ?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      165 

"Why  ?  Because — well,  because  you've  shewn  me 
a  new  way  of  looking  at  things." 

"Shirley,  countless  men  and  women  could  have 
done  as  much,  and  left  you  no  better  than  they  found 
you.  How  many  philosophers,  do  you  think,  have 
a  panacea  for  human  ills?" 

"But  yours  is  the  right  philosophy." 

"I  must  agree  with  you,  since  I  profess  it.  But 
theory  has  little  influence  on  personal  happiness. 
You  have  your  wretched  optimists,  and  your  inde- 
cently hilarious  pessimists.  The  wisdom  that  I  hope 
to  teach  you  rises  high  above  dialectics.  All  I  set 
out  to  do,  to  begin  with,  was  to  engage  your  interest 
sufficiently  to  make  to-night,  and  what  follows  to- 
night, possible.  But  you  held  back;  you  kept  put- 
ting off  the  day ;  and  meanwhile  your  whole  despair- 
ing point  of  view  altered,  as  a  result,  so  you  supposed, 
of  this  merely  elementary  instruction.  I  tell  you 
that,  by  itself,  it  would  have  consoled  you  about  as 
much  as  a  handbook  on  algebra." 

"Then  what  was  it?"  asked  Shirley,  with  wide 
eyes. 

"It  was  what  you  rely  on  at  this  moment,  what  will 
take  you  through  all  the  succeeding  stages — ^your 
trust  in  me,  as  you  describe  it ;  that  is  to  say,  the  sub- 
mission of  your  intellect  to  mine — the  force  which 
you  drew,  unconsciously,  out  of  my  mere  person- 
ality. .  .  .  But  we  don't  want  to  enmesh  ourselves 
in  such  discussions  at  present.     The  day  which  I  have 


166     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

longed  hoped  for  is  not  to  be  wasted  in  words.  Now 
that  the  strangeness  has  passed,  I  hope  my  house  will 
seem  a  friendlier  place  than  it  did  at  first.  You 
criticised  my  pictures,"  he  said,  with  a  casual  glance 
round  the  walls,  "and  I  don't  defend  them  as  works 
of  art,  though  that  is  a  good  portrait  of  Tristan's 
on  your  left.  But  they  seemed  to  me  to  be  in  key 
with  the  room,  darkly  rich,  archaic,  a  trifle  pompous. 
So  I  let  them  stay.  You  see  I  bought  the  house 
as  it  stands;  books,  furniture,  everything." 

"So  none  of  these  things  are  yours — chosen  by 
you,  that  is  ?" 

"Not  many.  A  few  hundred  books  in  my  study, 
and  such  other  belongings  as  I  can  carry  about  on  my 
joumeyings.  I  am  an  incorrigible  wanderer. 
These,"  he  added,  indicating  the  row  of  little  figures 
on  the  mantel,  "I  brought  here  with  me,  to  be  my 
household  gods.     Have  you  looked  at  them  ?" 

"No.     Where  did  you  get  them  ?" 

"From  various  dealers,  at  one  time  and  another; 
I  have  a  fancy  for  such  things." 

"They're  old  aren't  they  ?" 

"Some  of  them  are  very  old  indeed;  older  than 
our  friend  Silvanus  at  Overbourne.  They  were 
found  in  all  sorts  of  places — Greece,  Ehodes, 
Smyrna,  Eg}^pt.  This,"  he  continued,  stretching  out 
towards  her  the  one  which  he  held,  "I  take  to  be 
the  doyen  of  the  assembly.     He  comes  from  Cyprus, 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      167 

and  was  made  the  best  part  of  three  thousand  years 
ago.  But  his  cult  goes  back  farther  than  that,  Shir- 
ley; farther  than  we  can  think." 

She  had  stooped  her  fair  head  to  look  at  the  figure, 
a  roughly  fashioned  object  of  pale  green  stone,  goat- 
headed  and  human-bodied,  with  disproportionately 
large  horns  curling  backwards  over  its  head  and  down 
its  spine;  but,  as  Sir  Edward  ceased  to  speak,  she 
looked  quickly  up  at  him,  with  an  expression  that  was 
half  puzzled  and  half,  one  might  have  thought,  an- 
noyed. Apparently  unconscious  of  this  mute  and 
protesting  enquiry,  he  turned  away,  and  replaced  the 
statuette  on  its  former  position. 

"Who  is  he?  What's  he  called?"  the  girl  asked 
perfunctorily,  after  an  interval  during  which  her 
faint  look  of  disturbance  passed  away. 

"I  christened  him  Eligor,  in  the  absence  of  any 
proof  of  his  actual  identity,"  Sir  Edward  answered. 
"Here's  another,"  he  went  on,  touching  with  his 
finger  the  effigy  of  a  pot-bellied,  bearded,  crouching 
creature,  much  less  battered  and  formless  than  the 
first.  "His  name  is  Sytry,  though  we  may  suspect 
that  he  started  life  as  Silenus.  He  is  seven  or  eight 
hundred  years  younger  than  the  other,  and  was  dug 
up  in  Barca,  while  I  was  in  the  country.  Poor  old 
Sytry!  This  fellow,"  he  pointed  to  a  larger  head 
of  terra  cotta,  still  bearing  the  traces  of  colouring, 
and  representing  a  man's  face,  fierce  and  progna- 


168      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

thous,  the  brows  adorned  with  short  bull's  horns,  '^is 
of  a  much  earlier  period,  though  not  as  old  as  Eli- 
gor.     I  call  him  Gomory." 

Shirley  still  remaining  silent,  her  host  picked  up 
a  smaller  head  of  terra  cotta,  and  regarded  it  long. 
Sharply  indicated  by  the  candle-light  against  the 
background  of  white  marble,  there  might  have  been 
traced  a  fanciful  resemblance  between  the  still,  well- 
cut  features  of  the  former  speculator  and  the  pro- 
file of  the  tiny  and  masterly  sculpture  that  he  stud- 
ied. The  hair  of  the  image  was,  however,  rougher 
and  more  abundant ;  and  in  one  particular  there  was 
a  marked  difference  between  the  living  man  and  his 
prototype.  The  ears  of  the  image,  rising  into  points 
that  were  scarcely  human,  called  attention  by  their 
contrast  to  the  oddly  flattened  ears  of  Sir  Edward. 

"My  tutelary  deity — for  the  moment — Serguthy; 
but  I  have  paid  homage  to  the  others,  and  shall 
again.     We  are  changeable  creatures." 

Putting  his  hands  in  his  jacket  pockets,  he  gazed 
at  his  guest  so  long  and  absent-mindedly  that  she 
began  to  shift  uneasily  in  her  chair. 

"What  funny  names !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  plain 
attempt  to  break  up  his  meditations.  "I  don't  re- 
member hearing  them  before." 

"Very  likely  not.  As  I  said,  I  gave  them  my- 
self to  these  idols,  having  no  positive  means  of  know- 
ing the  actual  intention  of  the  artists." 

"Did  you  make  them  up  ?" 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      169 

"Oh  no!  They  are  queer  old  Gothic  words  that 
appeared  to  fit  their  owners.  The  rest  have  been 
similarly  baptized.  Here,"  he  told  her,  lifting  a 
seated  figure  that  held  in  one  hand  a  sceptre  and 
in  the  other  an  implement  that  seemed  meant  to 
represent  a  small  flail,  "here  is.  .  .  .  Here  is 
Madame  Ladmirault!" 

"Madame  Ladmirault !"  repeated  Shirley,  in  some 
surprise;  but  a  second  later  the  door  opened,  and 
the  two  other  guests  of  whom  Sir  Edward  had 
spoken  entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MADAME  LADMIEAULT  greeted  Sir  Ed- 
ward with  a  mixture  of  familiarity  and  re- 
spect that  would  have  befitted  a  dog  which  realises 
that  its  caresses  are  no  less  likely  to  he  rewarded 
with  a  kick  than  with  a  pat.  There  was  always  a 
quality  in  his  courtesy  that  exercised  a  restraining 
influence  over  the  effusive.  She  professed  to  be  en- 
chanted to  see  Shirley,  of  whose  beauty  she  expressed 
her  admiration  at  once  in  open  speech. 

"EUe  est  tres  belle,"  she  declared,  nodding  to  her 
host,  with  the  phantom  of  a  smile;  and  once 
more  ran  her  critical  eyes  over  the  girl  from  her 
fair  hair  to  the  toes  of  her  high-heeled  slippers,  and 
back  again.  "Elle  est  tres  belle,"  she  repeated,  with 
another  nod,  and  a  sudden,  almost  fierce  gravity, 
as  though  angrily  perceiving  that  it  was  vain  to  look 
for  more  adequate  words  of  praise. 

She  appeared  to  be  nearer  fifty  than  forty  years 
of  age,  a  tall,  broad,  fat,  muscular  woman,  who 
radiated  an  over-powering  vitality.  Her  dress,  of 
pale  green  and  gold,  was  cut  away  to  the  waist  at 
the  back  and  to  the  midriil  in  front,  leaving  her 
torso  and  arms,  as  thick  as  a  man's  thigh,  almost 
naked,  save  for  their  impasto  of  dead  white  coa- 

170 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      171 

metic.  One  could  still  see  that  she  had  been  a 
handsome  creature  some  years  earlier,  but  her  lips 
had  flattened  and  widened  with  age,  there  were  violet 
bags  under  her  great,  dark  eyes,  her  chin  had  lost 
itself  in  rolls  of  flesh,  and  her  chevelure  of  crim- 
son waves  was  very  unconvincing.  If  it  was  a  fact, 
it  was  one  of  those  abnormal  facts  which  are  con- 
sidered inadmissible  in  a  modern  work  of  art.  She 
wore  a  quantity  of  valuable  jewellery,  and  distilled 
an  obtrusive  scent  of  carnations. 

"Pity  Miss  Cresswell's  modesty,  Louise,"  Sir  Ed- 
ward amiably  enjoined  her,  "and  talk  to  her  in  Eng- 
lish. She  disclaims  all  knowledge  of  French ;  only, 
I  am  convinced,  through  shyness.  But  we  must  hu- 
mour her." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,"  cried  Madame  Ladmirault,  in 
her  harshly  unctuous  tones.  "My  daughter  speaks 
only  a  few  words  of  English,  and  I  was  hoping 
you  would  be  friends.  Olga,"  she  said  in  French, 
"shake  hands  with  Miss  Cresswell." 

The  young  girl,  who  had  been  standing,  unnoticed 
and  on  one  leg,  in  the  background,  did  as  she  was 
bid,  staring  at  Shirley  with  her  black  eyes.  If  her 
mother  was  fat,  she  was  as  noticeably  thin,  and 
had  an  ill-nourished  and  almost  childish  air,  with 
her  long  throat,  narrow  shoulders  and  chlorotic  skin. 
Yet  she  was  pretty  in  a  frail  way,  and  her  short 
mop  of  stiff  black  hair,  and  dress  of  filmy  white 
gave  her  a  picturesque  appearance.     When  she  had 


172      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

obeyed  Madame  Ladmirault's  orders,  she  drew  off 
again  a  couple  of  paces,  and  continued  to  devour 
Shirley  with  a  regard  of  tragic  earnestness.  A  mo- 
ment later,  Jerome  announced  dinner,  setting  open  a 
pair  of  folding  doors  at  the  end  of  the  library  which 
displayed  a  candle-lit  and  flower-decked  table  await- 
ing them. 

The  meal  was  sufficiently  gay,  for  although  Shir- 
ley was  not  able  entirely  to  recapture  her  ordinary 
spirits,  and  Olga  was  almost  dumb  from  the  soup 
to  the  coffee,  Madame  Ladmirault  was  an  agile  con- 
versationalist, while  Sir  Edward  himself  had  never, 
during  Shirley's  friendship  with  him,  shewn  himself 
more  companionable  and  amusing.  With  the  inten- 
tion, no  doubt,  of  erasing  the  memory  of  any  dis- 
piriting first  impressions  of  New  Place  which  might 
linger  in  the  mind  of  the  novice,  he  entirely  discarded 
the  aloofness  of  manner  to  which,  even  in  his  best 
moods,  he  was  prone,  and  took  pains  to  win  laughter 
and  interest  from  his  company.  To  Shirley  he  was 
flatteringly  polite  and  provident,  treating  her  in  a 
marked  way  as  the  guest  of  the  evening,  breaking 
off  in  the  middle  of  a  remark  to  the  older  woman 
at  the  least  sign  of  speech  from  the  younger,  and  al- 
most wholly  ignoring  the  French  girl.  The  mother 
accepted  this  as  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend,  while 
Olga  was  plainly  only  too  happy  to  be  forgotten. 
She  appeared  exceedingly  nervous,  as  if  it  were  her 
first  experience  of  a  grown-up  dinner  party;  com- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     173 

mitting  various  minor  solecisms  in  table  manners, 
and,  in  the  intervals  of  hollow-eyed  staring  at  the 
English  girl  who  sat  opposite  to  her,  shooting  anxious 
glances  towards  her  stalwart  mother.  Her  fleshless 
little  hands,  too,  trembled  most  of  the  time,  whether 
with  embarrassment  or  some  actual  affection  of  the 
health  it  was  difficult  to  guess.  During  the  whole 
of  the  dinner  she  made  no  remark,  except  an  occa- 
sional "oui,  maman,"  "non,  monsieur,"  when  directly 
addressed.  The  few  complimentary  frivolities  which 
Sir  Edward  tossed  to  her,  she  accepted  without  even 
the  acknowledgment  of  a  smile.  There  were  times 
when  the  expression  in  her  eyes,  as  Shirley  acciden- 
tally met  them,  seemed  to  hold  some  message  or  en- 
quiry; but  apart  from  the  fact  that  Shirley  was  ig- 
norant of  her  language,  the  cheerfulness  of  her  other 
companions,  and  the  consolingly  lively  aspect  of  the 
round  table,  glittering  with  silver  and  crystal  and 
gaudy  with  flowers,  would  have  been  likely  to  turn 
her  thoughts  into  more  entertaining  channels  than  the 
unexpressed  discomforts  of  a  shy  debutante. 

Of  the  coming  ceremony  scarcely  anything  was  said 
after  the  first  few  minutes,  during  which  Sir  Edward 
casually  informed  Madame  Ladmirault,  in  English, 
that  an  introductory  ritual,  for  initiates  of  the  order 
only,  would  take  place  at  ten  o'clock,  and  that  Shir- 
ley's presentation  would  follow  it.  The  lady  nodded, 
and  expressed  her  approval  of  these  arrangements, 
which  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  communicate 


174      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

to  Olga;  and  she  added  a  few  rallying  words  on 
the  subject  to  Shirley. 

"You  are  getting  nervous,  my  dear,  aren't  you? 
I  understand  so  well.  You  are  young — twenty-five  ? 
Impossible! — and  you  are  of  the  neurotic  tempera- 
ment— ^yes.  So  is  my  Olga;  she  was  also  a  little 
stupid  about  it  at  first;  she  laughs  now 
when  she  thinks  of  it.  Ah,  you  may  trust  in  Sir 
Edward ;  he  is  so  fond  of  you — I  don't  wonder.  He 
will  look  after  you." 

A  shower  of  significant  nods  and  a  gurgle  of  pro- 
vocative laughter  accompanied  her  words,  as  she 
screwed  up  her  puffy  eyelids  in  a  new  look  of  admira- 
tion. 

''Miss  Cresswell  has  quite  recovered  her  balance  by 
now,"  Sir  Edward  proclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  grave  af- 
fection, "but  we  mustn't  chaif  her  on  the  subject,  or 
she  may  fly  off  at  a  new  tangent.  I've  had  great 
difficulty  in  bringing  her  to  the  scratch,  Louise ;  it 
took  time  and  trouble  to  win  her  confidence.  She 
has  but  a  poor  opinion  of  the  human  race.  You've 
no  idea  how  rusee  she  is." 

"I  could  not  have  guessed  it,"  Madame  Ladmirault 
confessed.     "She  looks  so  delightfully  simple." 

Sir  Edward  shook  his  head  smilingly. 

"Nobody  could  take  her  in,"  he  said  slowly  in 
French.  "I  pity  anyone  who  tries.  They  would 
be  wasting  their  labour.     You  needn't  tell  her  the 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      176 

character  I'm  giving  her;  but  she's  a  sly  little 
thing." 

Dinner  had  been  late,  and  the  party  lingered 
over  their  coffee  and  cigarettes;  but  shortly  before 
half  past  nine,  the  host  rose  in  his  place. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "we  ought  to  be  preparing,  I  sup- 
pose. I  take  it  for  granted  that  more  of  our  friends 
have  arrived  by  this  time ;  and  those  that  haven't  we 
must  do  without.  Louise,  will  you  and  Olga  get 
ready,  and  join  us  downstairs  in  half  an  hour  or 
so?" 

The  big  woman  was  also  on  her  feet.  The  food 
and  wine,  which  she  had  fully  appreciated,  had  left 
some  marks  of  their  consumption  in  her  laboured 
breathing  and  suffused  eyes;  but  the  whiteness  of 
her  complexion  was  unchangeable  by  internal  means. 
She  still  held  a  cigarette  between  her  twisted,  scarlet 
lips,  puffing  at  it  with  lightning  rapidity,  as  she  ad- 
dressed her  daughter  in  her  native  language. 

"Come,  darling;  we  are  to  go  back  to  our  rooms." 

"Qui,  maman,"  answered  the  girl  obediently,  over- 
setting her  chair  as  she  sprang  up. 

"As  for  you,  Shirley,"  Sir  Edward  continued, 
"perhaps  you'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  our  chapel, 
would  you  ?  After  that,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave 
you  to  yourself  for  some  time ;  partly  because  I  shall 
be  otherwise  engaged,  and  partly  because  it's  most 
desirable  that  you  should  have  time  to  get  your- 


176     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

self  in  tune  for  the  ceremony.  You  would  find  it 
difficult  to  walk,  in  a  suitable  state  of  mind,  almost 
directly  from  a  dinner  table  to  a  solemn  rite.  At  a 
later  stage  you  will  learn  to  lay  aside  the  pettiness 
of  everyday  life  at  a  moment's  notice;  but  you  are 
only  a  beginner  yet." 

While  he  was  speaking  to  her,  with  a  return  of 
his  dignified  tranquillity,  Madame  Ladmirault  had 
reached  the  folding  doors,  and,  at  this  moment,  looked 
sharply  over  her  shoulder. 

"Olga!"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  imperative  glance; 
and  'Shirley,  starting  at  the  loudness  of  her  voice, 
turned  quickly  in  the  direction  to  which  the  French- 
woman's stare  was  aimed.  Olga  had  sidled  quietly 
round  the  table,  and  was  now  standing  behind  her, 
almost  touching  her  elbow,  her  black  eyes  dilated,  her 
colourless  lips  a  little  parted. 

"Olga,  viens !"  cried  her  mother. 

"Oui,  madame,"  the  girl  hurriedly  answered,  but 
her  swift  submission  appeared  to  infuriate  Madame 
Ladmirault.  An  extraordinary  violence  convulsed 
her  face,  but  before  she  could  speak.  Sir  Edward 
had  intervened  with  suave  distinctiveness. 

"Don't  scold  the  child,  Louise,"  he  begged,  patting 
Olga  kindly  on  her  narrow  shoulder.  "You'll  un- 
fit her  for  this  evening.  There!  Take  her  away 
and  console  her." 

All  the  anger  had  deserted  the  mother's  face  be- 
fore he  had  spoken  a  dozen  words;  and,  when  he 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      177 

ceased,  she  passed  her  arm  lovingly  round  her  daugh- 
ter's waist  and  drew  her  out  of  the  room,  looking 
back  to  nod  in  the  same  intimate  manner  to  Sir  Ed- 
ward before  she  disappeared.  He  gave  no  answer- 
ing sign,  but,  having  pulled  a  bell-rope,  turned  to 
Shirley. 

''I've  rung  for  Jerome  to  show  you  back  to  your 
room,  because  I  want  you  to  wrap  yourself  up  well — 
I  suggest  a  fur  coat,  if  you  brought  one  with  you. 
The  chapel  is  cold.  I  also  have  to  make  some 
change  of  dress;  and  T  will  fetch  you  in  a  few  min- 
utes. ...  I  trust  that  you're  feeling  quite  yourself 
again,  by  now  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  slowly.  "Oh  yes !  I  think  I'm 
all  right." 

"Think  as  little  as  may  be,"  he  recommended,  pat- 
ting her  shoulder  as  he  had  patted  Olga's,  a  thing 
he  had  never  done  to  her  before,  for  he  was  notice- 
ably chary  of  touching  his  friends.  "Keep  your  mind 
quite  at  rest.  Anticipate  nothing.  Conjure  up  no 
pictures.  Remember,  if  you  like,  something  of  what 
I've  taught  you,  if  you  don't  find  it  disturbing. 
Float  ...  let  yourself  go.  What  we  call  reality,  you 
know,  is  no  more  than  a  transparent  disguise,  a  rather 
ugly  and  obvious  mask.  You're  on  the  brink  of 
truer  and  bigger  things.  .  .  .  Jerome,  take  Miss 
Cresswell  back  to  her  room." 

The  departure  of  the  other  guests,  the  cessation 
of  the  chatter  of  the  table,  and  the  return  to  less 


178     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

normal  subjects  had  their  effect  on  Shirley.  Her 
face  once  more  grew  anxious  and  she  seemed  on 
the  point  of  making  some  appeal  or  addressing  some 
enquiry  to  her  friend,  but  he  bowed  her  out  with 
a  formal  finality,  and  she  was  obliged  to  follow  the 
discreet  figure  of  the  butler  into  the  upper  regions 
of  the  still  utterly  noiseless  house. 

It  was  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  before 
there  came  a  knock  upon  her  bedroom  door;  and 
when,  mufiled  in  her  long  fur  coat,  she  opened  it, 
she  fell  back  a  little,  despite  the  notice  that  her  host 
had  given  of  a  change  in  his  attire.  The  ex-specu- 
lator was  dressed,  in  a  manner  startlingly  unlike  his 
usual  careful  conventionality,  in  a  black  cassock  but- 
toned from  throat  to  knee,  and  thence  hanging  in 
loose  folds  onto  his  feet,  which  were  covered  only 
with  sandals.  In  this  monastic  array,  he  looked 
greatly  taller  and  even  more  imposing  than  ever,  and 
his  manner  had  changed  with  his  costume.  His  pale 
face  was  rigidly  set,  the  heavy  white  lids  drooped 
over  his  eyes,  and  he  gave  no  smile,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  at  Shirley's  innocently  expressed  as- 
tonishment, although  he  referred  to  it  verbally. 

"You're  ready?  Come  along,  then!  I'm  sorry 
I  startled  you,  but  I  gave  you  warning,  didn't  I? 
The  vestments  that  I  wear  at  our  assemblies  could 
not  possibly  be  put  over  modem  dress.  You  your- 
self will  be  veiled;  and,  as  it  happens,  the  frock 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      179 

you  are  wearing  is  entirely  suitable.  Otherwise  I 
should  have  had  to  ask  you  to  change  it." 

While  he  spoke  he  was  conducting  her  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  library;  but,  before  they  reached  it, 
he  opened  a  door  on  his  left  hand  and  motioned  to 
Shirley  to  pass  through  it  before  him.  She  found 
herself  in  what  was  probably  the  study  to  which  he 
had  previously  made  some  reference ;  a  grave,  drowsy 
retreat,  adorned  with  richly  bound  books  in  stands 
of  carved  ebony,  warmed  with  the  dying  embers  of 
a  fire,  and  lighted,  like  Shirley's  bedroom,  with 
candles  in  branched  sconces.  In  an  alcove  at  the 
further  end,  partly  veiled  by  a  faded  carpet  hang- 
ing from  a  rod,  a  small  organ  had  been  built.  The 
lids  of  the  manuals  were  open,  and  a  whirring, 
breathy  noise  within  seemed  to  denote  that  the  bel- 
lows were  being  blown  by  some  mechanical  device. 
Shirley  looked  enquiringly  at  her  companion's  set 
face.  She  seemed  to  want  confidence  to  originate 
any  conversation  herself,  but  followed  Sir  Edward 
and  briefly  answered  what  was  said  to  her,  with  the 
docility  that  a  school-child  might  show  towards  its 
master. 

"You  didn't  know  I  played?  It  is  an  essential 
part  of  our  ritual.  ISTothing  but  music  can  induce 
certain  transcendent  moods — you  must  have  realised 
that  before  now.  I  will  go  before  you  here ;  be  care- 
ful how  you  follow." 


180     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

He  pushed  back  a  curtain  in  one  wall  of  the 
recess,  and  now  began  to  descend  a  narrow  flight  of 
stone  steps.  There  was  no  light  on  this  steep  stair- 
way, but  sufficient  followed  them  from  the  study  to 
make  the  passage  easy.  At  the  bottom  was  a  short 
tunnel,  the  end  of  which  was  closed  by  a  heavy 
drapery;  and  Sir  Edward,  holding  this  aside,  allowed 
Shirley  to  precede  him  into  the  chapel  of  the  secret 
order  to  which  she  was  soon  to  be  admitted. 

For  some  seconds  the  eye,  accustomed  to  the  com- 
parative brightness  of  the  rooms  above,  was  unable 
to  make  out  the  details  of  the  place,  the  only  plainly 
visible  object  being  a  lighted  lamp  of  deep  blue  glass, 
which,  hanging  on  thin  chains  from  the  roof,  fur- 
nished the  sole  illumination.     Little  by  little,  how- 
ever, things  began  to  take  shape.     Shirley  and  her 
silent  associate  were  standing  on  a  platform  or  dais 
of  stone,  raised  on  three  wide  and  shallow  steps  above 
the  floor  of  a  small  vault,  the  groined  ceiling  of  which 
was  not  more  than  a  dozen  feet  above  their  heads. 
In  the  side  walls  five  deep  niches  had  been  cut  into 
the  stone,  three  on  the  left  hand  and  two  on  the 
right.     They  were  of  sufficient  size  to  have  held  life- 
size  statues,  but  contained  nothing  but  certain  small 
implements,  lying  on  the  flags;  in  one  a  stick,  or 
wand,  about  five  feet  in  length,  in  the  second  a  shep- 
herd's crook.     The  others  held  a  sickle  and  two  un- 
sheathed and  long-bladed  knives,  one  with  a  dark, 
the  other  with   a  white  hilt.     Above  these  niches 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      181 

hung  banners  of  a  dark  blue,  embroidered  in  various, 
presumably  symbolic,  devices;  primitively  simple 
representations  of  an  heraldic  rose,  set  against  a 
gold  cross,  of  a  fleur-de-lis,  of  a  snake  curled  about 
a  stick,  of  a  large  capital  T,  and  of  the  Greek  letter 
Phi.  On  the  right-hand  wall,  where  the  third  niche 
should  have  been  to  balance  the  number  of  those  op- 
posite, a  door  of  dark  wood,  silver  hinged  and 
handled,  marked  the  position  of  an  ambry.  At  Shir- 
ley's elbow,  in  the  middle  of  the  dais,  a  great  cano- 
pied chair,  or  throne,  stood  with  its  back  to  the 
curtain  that  shielded  the  entrance ;  and  these  heavy 
draperies,  as  well  as  a  similar  one  that  hung  at  the 
further  end  of  the  vault,  were  of  the  same  blue  as 
the  banners,  and  gorgeously  stitched  with  silver 
thread.  On  the  further  side  of  the  chair,  a  big, 
tongueless  bell  of  bronze  was  supported  in  a  rough 
wooden  frame;  and  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  else 
in  the  room,  except  three  long  benches,  set  back 
a  few  yards  from  the  lowest  step  of  the  dais.  But 
the  most  conspicuous  quality  of  the  cellar  was  the 
cruel,  the  glacial  cold.  It  seemed  as  if  the  savagery 
of  the  December  night  must  have  been  in  some  way 
artificially  intensified ;  or  as  if  the  rigours  of  a  hun- 
dred winters  had  been  hoarded  in  this  subterranean 
chamber.  It  was  a  cold  that  stung  the  skin,  hurt  the 
lungs  to  inhale,  and  laid  a  stifling  hand  on  the  heart. 
Shirley  caught  her  breath,  and  shook  from  head 
to  foot. 


182     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

"Yes,"  agreed  Sir  Edward,  looking  at  her  quietly 
through  the  blue  obscurity.  "It  is  a  condition  that 
is  desirable  for  our  initiates  in  the  earlier  part  of 
our  rites.  You  will  not  find  it  like  this,  by  the  time 
you  are  called  to  take  your  share  in  them.  We 
mustn't  stay  here  now;  time  is  getting  on.  Follow 
me!" 

Without  further  remark  from  the  man,  or  any 
question  or  comment  from  his  disciple,  they  tra- 
versed the  length  of  the  dim  room,  and  passed  out 
behind  the  deep  folds  of  the  glimmering  curtain. 
Here,  in  a  little  bracket  on  the  wall,  a  hand-lamp 
was  burning ;  and  Sir  Edward,  taking  it  in  his  hand, 
led  Shirley  through  an  open  doorway  and  up  a  second 
flight  of  stairs,  which  wound  steeply  into  the  upper 
storeys.  These  steps  circled  round  a  thick  pillar, 
giving  the  impression  of  having  been  built  in  a  tower 
contrived  against  the  outer  wall  of  the  house;  for 
there  was  no  landing  or  break  in  them  of  any  kind, 
although  their  number  shewed  that  they  must  reach 
into  the  highest  floor.  The  walls  were  damply 
crumbling,  and  glittered  here  and  there  with  a  crys- 
talline efflorescence;  nor  was  there  any  window  or 
loophole  to  admit  the  light  by  day.  The  pallid 
flame  of  the  hand-lamp,  going  on  before,  finally  dis- 
played a  pointed  archway,  filled  with  a  heavy  oaken 
door,  studded  with  flat  nail-heads ;  and,  when  it  had 
been  pushed  open,  the  pair  emerged  into  a  circular 
room,  the  warmth  and  clarity  of  which  made  a  grate- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      183 

ful  contrast  to  the  icy  gloom  below.  It  was,  however, 
very  sparely  furnished  with  a  table,  on  which  a  few 
books  lay,  and  two  elbow-chairs ;  nor  was  there  either 
blind  or  curtain  to  hide  the  tall  sash-window.  But 
the  carpet  on  the  floor,  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  and 
the  silver  lamp  on  the  table,  made  amends  for  other 
deficiencies.  To  the  right  of  the  archway  by  which 
they  had  entered,  a  second  door  of  the  same  pattern 
as  the  first  led,  it  might  be  assumed,  into  the  main 
building.  Sir  Edward,  blowing  out  his  hand-lamp 
and  setting  it  on  the  chimney-piece,  waved  Shirley 
to  a  chair,  and  stood,  erect  and  solemn  in  his  flowing 
cassock,  before  her.  The  girl,  slipping  her  fur  coat 
from  her  shoulders,  looked  anxiously  up  into  his 
face;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  read  in  its  mask- 
like immobility. 

"Here,"  he  told  her,  "I'm  obliged  to  leave  you 
alone  for  a  time.  I'm  afraid  it  can't  be  less  than 
an  hour,  but  I  hope  you  won't  find  it  too  tedious.  If 
you  are  bored,  there  is  something  for  you  to  read; 
but,  above  all,  you  should  do  your  best  to  empty  your 
mind  of  the  ordinary  affairs  and  interests  of  life.  I 
don't  want  to  agitate  you  by  overrating  the  impor- 
tance of  to-night's  events ;  but  they  represent,  as  you 
know,  a  long  step — a  far  longer  one  than  you  have 
yet  taken.  Shirley,  I  have  every  confidence  in  your 
powers  of  reception  and  resolution,  and  yet  I  own 
that  I  await  the  result  with  profound  anxiety." 

It  was  true.     For  all  his  determined  impassivity 


184     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

of  aspect,  his  voice  was  not  absolutely  under  con- 
trol, and  it  was  manifest  that  he  was  imposing  great 
restraint  on  himself.  Once  or  twice,  as  he  was  speak- 
ing, he  raised  his  downcast  eyes  and  permitted  their 
illegible  lambency  to  play  over  the  slim,  black  figure 
before  him,  with  a  haste  that  was  almost  furtive. 
If  looks  did  not  belie  him,  he  was,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  months  of  their  friendship,  nervous. 

"One  more  thing,"  he  continued,  folding  his  hands 
in  a  priestly  manner.  "I  particularly  ask  you  not 
to  leave  this  room  until  I  come  back.  Your  presence 
amongst  us  might  be  wanted  at  any  moment,  and  it 
would  be  exceedingly  troublesome  to  find  you  gone. 
This  door,"  he  added,  opening  it  a  few  inches  and 
shutting  it  again,  "leads  into  the  third-floor  corridor ; 
and,  in  case  of  need,  a  call  would  bring  one  of  the 
servants,  who  will  be  within  hearing.  They  sleep  on 
this  floor.  ...  I  suppose  I  need  not  warn  you 
against  coming  down  the  chapel  stairs  until  you  are 
summoned.  You  will  understand  that  any  interrup- 
tion of  our  service  would  be  greatly  resented." 

lie  was  silent  for  over  a  minute,  staring  at  the 
carpet,  and  presently  added : 

"It  would  be  unpardonable.     You  understand  ?" 

With  the  last  words,  he  raised  his  face  and  looked 
at  her  seriously. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  in  a  nervous  undertone. 

He  nodded  and  turned  away  towards  the  stone 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      185 

stairs,  darting  a  last  doubtful  look  back  at  her  as 
he  disappeared  into  the  gloom.  Then  the  door  shut 
behind  him,  and  she  was  alone. 

For  some  time  she  sat  motionless,  now  with  empty 
eyes,  now  gazing  unthinkingly  at  the  leaping  fire,  the 
pattern  of  the  carpet,  the  books  on  the  table.  One 
of  these  she  presently  drew  towards  her,  and,  open- 
ing it  at  random,  turned  over  a  page  or  two.  A 
small  subsidence  of  the  coals  in  the  fireplace  brought 
her  mind  from  her  reading  with  a  start,  and  she 
turned  her  attention  to  the  window.  The  glossy 
black  oblong  threw  back  her  own  seated  image  and 
that  of  the  placid  lamp,  as  if  it  were  a  mirror ;  but 
of  outside  objects  nothing  whatever  was  to  be  seen. 
After  studying  the  reflected  picture  for  a  little,  she 
rose  from  her  chair,  and,  crossing  the  room,  put  her 
face  close  to  the  glass.  From  this  position  it  wag 
possible  to  make  out,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  inches 
only,  the  sturdy,  naked  branch  of  a  tree;  but,  be- 
yond this,  the  darkness  was  utterly  empty,  breath- 
lessly still.  There  was  not  even  that  faint  crackle 
of  frost  that  may  often  be  heard  on  a  windless  night 
in  midwinter.  Shirley  peered  long  into  the  vacancy 
before  returning  to  her  place,  pausing  on  her  way  be- 
fore the  second  chair,  upon  the  seat  of  which  lay  a 
folded  bundle  of  deep  blue  stuff.  Picking  this  up 
and  shaking  it  out  of  its  creases,  she  discovered  it 
to  consist  of  two  long,  filmy  veils — the  robes  of  her 


186      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

novitiate,  no  doubt.  She  dropped  them  where  she 
had  found  them,  and  applied  herself  again,  with  a 
small  frown  of  determination,  to  her  book. 

At  first  she  seemed  to  be  successful  in  pinning  her 
mind  to  this  old  and  heavily  bound  quarto ;  but  pres- 
ently uneasiness  made  itself  once  more  apparent. 
She  closed  the  covers  hastily,  and  sat  drumming  her 
fingers  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  occasionally  twist- 
ing her  head  rapidly  to  look  over  her  shoulder. 
Twice  she  reopened  the  book,  twice  she  shut  it ;  and 
then,  rising  to  her  feet,  took  a  few  indecisive  steps 
up  and  down  the  room,  before  coming  to  a  stand- 
still by  the  corridor  door,  her  face  turned  sideways 
towards  it,  as  if  listening. 

So  she  remained,  holding  her  breath,  for  some 
time,  before  putting  her  fingers  on  the  looped  handle, 
and,  with  every  precaution  against  noise,  slowly  turn- 
ing it.  For  all  her  care,  a  faint  click  resulted,  and 
she  paused  again,  with  raised  eyebrows  and  an  intent 
face,  before  drawing  the  door  gently  towards  her, 
and  putting  her  head  round  the  edge  of  it.  Before 
her  lay  a  long,  straight  corridor,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  doors,  brightly  lighted  with  oil  lamps,  the 
floor  covered  with  coarse  matting.  All  of  these  doors, 
except  one,  were  shut;  the  one  which  had  been  left 
open  shewing  only  the  pitch  darkness  of  a  presumably 
empty  room.  Shirley  took  a  step  across  the  thres- 
hold, hesitated,  and  then  walked  gingerly  a  yard  or 
two  down  the  passage,  turning  anxious  eyes  on  the 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      187 

gloom  of  the  open  doorway  as  she  passed  it.  From 
the  hidden  interior  of  one  of  the  bedrooms  beyond 
came  a  faint  sound,  the  noise  of  slow  and  heavy 
breathing;  and  the  girl  halted  once  more,  to  incline 
her  head  towards  the  panels  of  the  door. 

"Yes,  Miss?"  said  a  voice  enquiringly,  at  her  el- 
bow. 

"Oh!"  cried  Shirley,  jumping  round  with  a  little 
scream  of  fear.  Mrs.  Skinner,  the  negro  maid,  stood 
close  beside  her,  her  thick  lips  rolled  back  from  her 
dazzling  teeth  in  a  subservient  smile. 

"Oh,  how  you  startled  me !"  gasped  Shirley 
angrily. 

"I  heard  you.  Miss,  from  my  room.  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you?" 

"Yes,"  Shirley  answered  her  hurriedly;  and  then 
broke  off  to  contemplate  the  servant's  sly,  laugh- 
ing face.  "No,"  she  corrected  herself,  growing  a 
little  paler,  "l^o,  it  doesn't  matter,"  and  she  turned 
back  in  the  direction  from  which  she  had  come. 

"ISTothing  I  can  get  for  you.  Miss?"  the  negress 
urged,  following  close  beside  her.  "The  master 
said — " 

"Nothing,  thank  you.     I  was  only  just  looking — " 

Without  finishing  the  sentence  she  was  back  in 
her  lonely  room,  trembling  and  frowning,  her  palm 
pressed  against  the  heavy  door  which  separated  her 
from  the  intrusive  black  woman.  Once  or  twice 
she  shewed  signs  of  returning  to  the  passage,  but 


188      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

she  never  got  beyond  tlie  point  of  raising  the  latch ; 
and  finally,  crossing  the  floor  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
she  stared  for  long  minutes  gloomily  out  through 
the  uncurtained  window.  When  she  turned  away 
from  it,  it  was  with  a  certain  air  of  resolution 
and  haste;  the  manner  of  one  who  has  taken  a 
rash  decision  and  is  too  well  aware  that  the  cour- 
age necessary  for  its  fulfilment  is  likely  to  be  short- 
lived. Quietly  opening  the  door  of  the  cellar-steps, 
she  descended  to  the  first  turn  of  the  stairway, 
and  peeped  down  into  the  gloom  beneath.  No 
sound  ascended  from  below,  and,  touching  the  wall 
with  her  fingers,  as  a  guide  to  her  feet,  she  crept 
a  little  further.  Still  the  silence  was  profound; 
and,  with  a  disappointed  face,  she  came  back  into 
the  light  and  warmth,  and  fell  into  a  further  medita- 
tion. But  anxiety  evidently  won;  for  picking  up 
her  fur  coat,  she  slipped  her  arms  into  the  sleeves, 
and,  still  with  the  same  affrighted  speed,  groped 
her  way  downwards  towards  the  chapel,  this  time 
without  stopping  for  an  instant  on  the  way.  The 
first  ten  steps  plunged  her  into  utter  blackness,  but 
the  construction  of  the  staircase  made  it  possible 
to  accomplish  the  descent  without  any  great  danger 
of  a  slip.  The  heavy  stillness  of  the  air  gave  the 
impression  of  entering  a  catacomb;  and  even  when 
her  feet  told  her  that  she  had  reached  level  ground, 
there  was  not  a  whisper  to  betray  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  assembly  which  should,   by  now,   be 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     189 

in  the  midst  of  the  mysterious  rites  which  pre- 
ceded her  own  initiation.  Almost  at  once,  her 
hand,  stretched  out  before  her,  encountered  an  ob- 
stacle which  might  partly  account  for  this  voice- 
less desolation.  The  door  of  the  low  archway  which 
divided  the  stairs  from  the  chapel  had  been  shut; 
and,  passing  her  hand  over  that  portion  of  the 
surface  where  the  handle  and  keyhole  should  nor- 
mally have  been,  she  could  discover  neither.  It 
would  seem  that  the  door  fastened  from  inside  only. 
She  pressed  her  cheek  against  the  woodwork,  and 
waited,  a  shiver  occasionally  running  down  her 
from  head  to  foot,  although  the  air  of  the  passage 
was  by  no  means  so  cold  as  it  had  been  when  she 
last  passed  through  it. 

The  interval  that  elapsed  before  her  curiosity  was 
rewarded  might  have  been  five  or  ten  minutes, 
though  to  the  listener  it  must  have  seemed  like 
hours.  From  some  incalculable  distance  came  a 
sound;  or,  rather,  one  became  conscious  of  a  vi- 
bration which,  it  was  felt,  had  been  long  present, 
but  unrecognised;  difficult,  at  first,  to  differentiate 
from  the  pulse  of  blood  behind  the  ear-drums;  a 
rhythmic  shudder  which,  by  slow  degrees,  took 
on  a  tonal  quality.  So  it  persisted  for  a  while 
and  then  fell  to  a  lower  note.  Behind  this  closed 
door  and  the  thickness  of  the  two  great  curtains, 
someone  was  holding  the  keys  of  the  organ,  produc- 
ing a  succession  of  single  notes,  long-drawn,  muffled, 


190     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  apparently  chosen  quite  arbitrarily.  They  stood 
in  no  relation  to  each  other,  and  were  possibly  in- 
tended only  to  accustom  the  ear  gradually  to  the  dis- 
turbance of  the  silence;  for  presently  the  unseen 
player  passed  into  combinations  of  notes  that  grew 
ever  more  complex  and  various.  An  uninstructed 
mind  was  incapable  of  forming  them  into  a  melody, 
or  even  a  disconnected  sequence  of  melodic  phrases ; 
yet  it  was  abundantly  clear  that  they  were  not  the 
product  of  a  wanton  or  ignorant  wandering  over 
the  manuals  and  pedals.  Behind  them  lay  a  defin- 
ite intention,  an  individual  and  even  imperious  per- 
sonality. Long  as  the  time  of  waiting  had  seemed, 
this  odd  and  disturbing  performance  appeared  greatly 
longer.  Although  the  air  overflowed  and  trembled 
with  sound,  it  never  rose  above  a  murmur,  nor 
paused  for  an  instant.  There  were  times  when  it  had 
suggestions  of  a  primeval  simplicity;  others  when 
it  was  distractingly  involute,  full  of  gross  harmon- 
ies, and  dissonances  that  were  a  pain.  Progessions 
broke  off,  as  the  grateful  ear  began  to  recognise 
them,  in  unmodulated  flights  to  remote  keys ;  and  no 
alteration  in  volume  of  tone  ever  marked  these  start- 
ling aberrations.  Yet  through  it  all  ran  an  over- 
whelming affirmation  that  something  was  being  ex- 
pressed, some  secret  that  struggled  to  make  itself 
comprehensible;  infinitely  elusive;  now  manifestly 
and  triumphantly  cruel,  now  inexplicably  unclean, 
again  merely  unintelligible.     It  was  like  listening 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      191 

to  some  very  old  man,  his  faculties  almost  gone, 
maundering  and  licking  his  chops  over  the  memories 
of  a  long  and  vile  life;  losing  the  thread  of  his  tale, 
passing  from  it  into  a  thousand  extravagances,  se- 
nilely  oblivious  of  the  plan  with  which  he  had  set 
out;  and  yet  surfeited  with  vanity  and  retrospec- 
tive delight  in  his  own  achievement  and  contests  and 
bestialities.  Heard  in  this  velvety  blackness,  it  pro- 
duced an  invincible  sense  of  loathing. 

It  ceased,  on  an  unresolved  discord,  as  inconse- 
quently  as  it  had  begun ;  the  stillness  reformed  itself, 
and  endured  until  the  recollection  of  what  had  broken 
it  up  became  unreal  and  incredible.  Once  or  twice 
Shirley  beat  a  cautiously  hasty  retreat  up  the  stairs, 
to  a  point  where  she  was  hidden  by  the  central  pil- 
lar, as  if  in  fear  that  the  ceremony  was  finished,  and 
that  the  door  might  at  any  moment  be  opened  upon 
her  prying;  but  as  she  was  drawn  back  from  one 
of  these  panic  flights  to  her  former  position,  a  new 
sound  within  the  chapel  held  her  motionless.  A 
curious  chanting  was  to  be  heard,  which,  while  re- 
calling the  Catholic  office,  yet  seemed  to  be  delivered 
with  vastly  more  passion  and  vehemence  than  a 
priest  employs.  The  single  bass  voice  which  pro- 
duced it  must  have  been  of  extraordinary  sonority, 
for  though  the  intervening  barriers  necessarily  di- 
minished it  greatly,  it  yet  came  quite  loudly  to  the 
listener.  No  words,  however,  could  be  distin- 
guished ;  nothing  but  a  deep  musical  note,  constantly 


192      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  slowly  repeated;  yet,  for  all  its  deliberation, 
charged  with  enthusiasm.  Every  few  minutes  it 
broke  off  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period ;  and  one 
could  conceive  the  unseen  officiant  turning  to  a  new 
prayer  in  his  mystic  breviary,  or  pausing  to  per- 
form some  ceremonial  act  or  gesture.  The  number 
of  these  exhortations  or  invocations  seemed  endless ; 
but  Shirley  shewed  no  further  disposition  to  leave  her 
post,  though  the  ecclesiastical  nature  of  the  sounds 
might  have  been  expected  to  reassure  her  as  to  the 
character  of  the  service  that  was  taking  place.  This 
measured  intoning  to  a  noiseless  congregation  was 
just  such  a  solemn  and  decent  ceremony  as  the  novice 
should  have  foreseen  from  the  hints  thrown  by  Sir 
Edward  in  the  past. 

At  length  the  chanting  came  to  an  end ;  and,  after 
a  brief  silence,  the  girl  drew  her  coat  closely  about 
her  in  readiness  for  flight.  Evidently,  however, 
something  caught  her  attention  as  she  was  turning 
away,  for  she  applied  her  ear  yet  more  closely  to 
the  crack  of  the  door,  and  seemed  as  though  struck 
into  stone.  A  new  and  peculiar  noise  was  just  pre- 
ceptible;  one  that  suggested  the  low  and  guarded 
murmur  of  a  number  of  voices,  a  humming,  almost  in- 
audible, note,  often  reinforced  by  a  sibilant  hiss; 
and,  in  the  midst  of  it,  a  perfectly  unmistakable 
sound — the  high  quaver  of  a  woman's  laugh.  It  was 
gone  as  soon  as  it  came,  broken  in  the  middle,  as 
if  hastily  stifled;  but  its  effect,  in  contrast  with  the 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     193 

hushed  vibration  and  the  ceremonial  intoning  that 
had  preceded  it,  was  startling  and  ugly ;  and  Shirley, 
rigidly  crouching  against  the  door-post  gave  a  sob- 
bing gasp  in  sympathy.  At  about  this  time  the  air  of 
the  passage  began  to  be  faintly  charged  with  a  scent, 
sharply  different  from  its  own  odour  of  mouldering 
dampness;  a  perfume  both  sweet  and  sickly,  the 
smell  of  lilies  dying  in  a  warm  room.  It  grew  ever 
stronger,  until  it  was  inexpressibly  cloying,  and  even 
disgusting.  Yet  in  some  way  it  stirred  the  imagina- 
tion, sending  it  journeying  on  strange  byways.  In 
the  dark,  Shirley's  figure  swayed  slightly  against 
the  door-post. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  great  chanting  voice  was  uplifted 
again,  this  time  in  but  a  few  words,  thrown  out  with 
a  swifter  and  intenser  exaltation ;  and,  as  they  ceased, 
a  curious  crooning  was  distinctly  audible  above  the 
murmuring  undercurrent.  Whether  it  was  expres- 
sive of  pleasure  or  sorrow  it  was  hard  to  deter- 
mine. It  had  a  stifled  effect,  as  though  produced 
behind  closed  lips.  'So  might  some  brave  sufferer 
have  sought  to  repress  the  moans  of  pain ;  yet  again 
it  might  as  well  have  resulted  from  an  inarticulate 
joy,  a  savage  satisfaction,  like  that  of  a  cat  purring 
over  its  still  living  prey.  The  very  uncertainty 
of  its  nature  gave  it  a  disturbing  weirdness.  For 
some  time  it  rose  and  fell  persistently,  and  then  died, 
and,  with  it,  the  hissing  whisper  that  had  accom- 
panied it.     While  one  could  have  counted  twenty  the 


194     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

whole  vault,  like  the  bending  figure  of  the  eaves- 
dropper, seemed  to  hold  its  breath;  and  then,  with- 
out warning,  the  incense-laden  blackness  was  torn  by 
a  scream  so  deafening  and  piercing  that  Shirley 
sprang  erect  with  a  loud  answering  cry  of  uncon- 
trollable horror.  At  the  same  instant,  from  the  hid- 
den chapel  burst  out  a  sound  of  which  none  could  mis- 
take the  meaning,  though  its  cause  was  unseen  and 
it  had  never  been  met  before;  one  seldom  heard 
publicly  in  the  modem  world;  the  hideous,  guttural 
^^Aaaah !"  that  sickens  the  foreign  spectator  at  the 
side  of  the  Spanish  bull-ring;  the  gasp  of  many  voices 
let  loose  by  a  common  ghastly  joy.  And  on  the 
heels  of  this  dreadful  clamour,  a  perfect  babel  of 
Bedlamite  uproar  broke  forth,  hoarse  cries,  broken 
words,  choking  shrieks  and  shouts,  and,  high  above 
all,  the  same  shrill  laugh  that  had  been  once  before 
heard,  renewed  again  and  again  in  ever  madder  and 
fiercer  frenzy,  and  pursuing  Shirley  as  she  fled  in 
horror  up  the  narrow  stairway. 

Breathless  with  its  steepness  and  her  frantic  haste, 
she  burst  at  last  through  the  arched  door  at  the  top 
into  the  lamp-lit  room,  crossed  it  at  a  run,  and  laid 
hold  of  the  handle  of  the  corridor  door.  It  turned 
in  her  hand,  but  the  door  itself  remained  immovable. 
Clearly,  during  her  absence  from  the  room,  someone 
had  locked  or  bolted  it  from  without.  She  tore  at 
it  madly ;  she  flung  her  weight  against  it ;  the  solid 
wooden  barrier  did  not  even  shake  in  its  frame. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     195 

After  some  seconds  of  futile  struggle,  she  fell  back; 
and,  with  eyes  distraught  with  fear,  looked  quickly 
about  her.  The  gleaming  mirror  of  the  tall  win- 
dow held  her  gaze;  and,  swaying  and  shaking  from 
head  to  foot,  she  ran  over  to  it,  and  caught  the 
frame  in  her  hands.  The  lower  sash  was  unlatched, 
but  one  of  the  cords  was  broken ;  and  it  took  a  consid- 
erable exercise  of  the  girl's  strength  to  push  it  up- 
wards. After  thrusting  head  and  shoulders  out 
into  the  night,  she  hurried  back  to  the  table  and 
fetched  the  lamp.  By  the  clear  light  of  its  amber 
flame,  burning  unwaveringly  in  the  motionless  air,  a 
little  more  of  the  surroundings  could  be  seen;  the 
upper  part  of  the  neighbouring  tree,  and  its  bole, 
running  downwards  between  spreading  and  leafless 
boughs,  until  it  disappeared  in  the  gloom.  An  ac- 
tive climber  could  easily  have  got  astride  one  of  the 
bigger  limbs  from  the  window-sill,  and  so  probably, 
even  in  the  blindness  of  midnight,  reached  earth 
safely.  It  looked  a  hopeless  road  for  a  London 
girl,  hobbled  with  skirts,  half  crazed  with  fear,  and 
of  paltry  physical  strength;  but  Shirley  seemed  to 
consider  its  possibilities  for  some  time,  before  shu1>- 
ting  the  window  mechanically,  and  returning  to 
shake  the  door  again,  and  even  call  aloud  for  help, 
in  her  impotent  anger. 

It  was  long  before,  assured  that  all  paths  were 
closed  to  her  except  that  which  led  back  to  the  sinister 
rites  of  the  cellar  chapel,  she  fell  weeping  into  one 


196     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

of  the  chairs,  dropping  her  face  onto  the  fur-clad 
arms  which  she  threw  across  the  table.  Whether  si- 
lence had  returned  to  the  hidden  assembly,  or  the 
twists  of  the  staircase  smothered  the  sound  of  their 
voices,  certainly  it  was  as  still  again  in  the  room  as 
it  had  been  before  Shirley  set  out  on  her  voyage 
of  discovery.  Gradually  the  sound  of  her  own  sob- 
bing breath  calmed  into  apathy,  and  she  lay  there  in- 
ert, as  if  lifeless  or  asleep.  A  faint  sound  from  the 
stone  stairway  however  was  enough  to  bring  her  to 
an  upright  position  in  a  flash,  staring  with  a  face 
of  pale  fascination  on  the  archway.  Someone  was 
coming  quickly  and  bare-footed  up  the  steps.  She 
leapt  to  her  feet  and  across  the  room,  with  the  evi- 
dent intention  of  shutting  the  door  between  herself 
and  the  newcomer.  But  he  reached  it  before  she 
did;  and  she  retreated  dumbly,  feeling  behind  her 
for  the  support  of  the  table,  as  the  figure  of  Sir- 
Edward,  clad  in  his  cassock  and  with  his  feet  stripped 
of  their  sandals,  filled  the  entrance. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  man  was  mad  with  excitement.  Even  his 
iron  will  was  unable  to  conceal  the  fact.  Al- 
though his  teeth  were  tightly  set,  there  was  a  per- 
ceptible tremor  of  the  muscles  of  the  face,  a  constant 
flutter  of  the  eyelids.  Pale  as  ever,  his  skin  was 
shiny  with  half-dried  sweat,  and  his  eyes,  illegible  no 
longer,  blazed  with  a  horrible  ecstasy.  One  hand 
gripped  the  other  wrist,  but  the  shaking  of  it  was 
not  to  be  so  overcome.  He  confronted  Shirley 
speechlessly  for  many  seconds,  before  he  found  his 
voice. 

"We're  ready  for  you  now,"  he  said  at  last  breath- 
lessly, essaying  an  encouraging  smile,  but  achieving 
no  more  than  a  mechanical  rictus,  fearfuly  contra- 
dicted by  his  flaming  stare. 

Shirley  made  no  answer.  She  had  fallen  back, 
with  disordered  hair  and  a  desperate,  tear-stained 
face,  to  the  table,  against  which  she  leaned  heavily, 
no  less  white  and  shaking  than  her  companion. 

"You've  been  crying,"  he  murmured,  with  a  sort 
of  greedy  delight.  "Silly  child!  You've  been 
frightening  yourself.  .  .  .  Pull  yourself  together! 
Remember  I  expect  you  to  do  me  credit  at  your  in- 
itiation." 

197 


198     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

The  word  brought  the  girl  back  from  her  bemuse- 
ment. 

'^I  won't !"  she  said  hurriedly,  and  almost  inaudi- 

bly. 

He  made  a  quick  step  towards  her,  stopped,  took 
a  deep  breath,  and  dropped  his  head,  so  that  his  eyes 
were  hidden.  The  fingers  of  his  right  hand  tight- 
ened visibly  on  his  left  wrist,  and  the  struggle  to  re- 
press the  fury  aroused  by  her  words  was  abundantly 
plain.  By  the  time  he  replied,  however,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  recapturing  a  little  of  the  usual  colour- 
less courtesy  of  his  everyday  tones;  but  the  surface 
of  his  face  still  worked  and  shivered  like  water  about 
to  boil,  and  he  was  careful  to  refrain  from  looking 
at  her. 

"I  don't  understand  you.     You  won't  what  V 

She  uttered  no  word,  but  her  eyes  were  filled  with, 
a  despairing  defiance. 

"You're  overwrought,"  he  said  slowly.  "Well, 
I'm  not  surprised,  I  foresaw  it,  to  some  extent.  The 
whole  affair  is  outside  your  ordinary  experience.  .  .  . 
But  there's  no  great  hurry,  after  all.  Take  your 
time." 

"I  won't!"  she  tremulously  maintained.  "I'm 
not  going  to  do  it.  I  won't  come  back  to  that  cellar. 
Let  me  out !     Sir  Edward,  let  me  out  of  this  room !" 

"Now,  Shirley !  Don't  lose  your  head,"  he  begged, 
without  a  movement.  "Be  quiet  for  a  moment,  and 
listen  to  me.     Be  quiet,  I  tell  you !     What's  thrown 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     199 

jou  into  this  silly  state  of  fuss?  .  .  .  You  haven't 
been  out  of  this  room  ?" 

With  the  last  words,  which  seemed  to  have  occurred 
to  him  unexpectedly,  he  looked  quickly  up.  The 
great  translucent  eyes  still  burnt  and  glared,  but  the 
frenzy  that  had  lighted  them  was  little  by  little  giv- 
ing way  to  a  kind  of  distracted  craftiness,  and  he 
kept  them  fixed  on  Shirley  menacingly. 

"No!"  she  assured  him,  with  a  terrified  gasp. 

"Then  what  in  the  world  ...  ?"  He  broke  off, 
and  seemed  to  rearrange  the  form  of  his  question. 
"I  thought  possibly  you'd  been  scaring  yourself  by 
prowling  about  dark  passages ;  perhaps  meeting  that 
nigger  girl  that  you  found  alarming,  for  some  absurd 
reason.  But  if  you've  been  sitting  quietly  here  by 
yourself,  all  the  time — you  swear  you  have?" 

lie  shot  the  question  at  her  suspiciously,  and  she 
gave  a  dumb  nod,  while  the  arm  which  supported  her 
against  the  table  bent  as  if  she  would  have  fallen. 

"Then  what's  happened  to  change  your  state  of 
mind  ?     I  left  you  here,  not  half  an  hour  .  .  ." 

Before  he  could  say  more,  she  burst  into  a  torrent 
of  half  whispered  words. 

"Let  me  out!  I  won't  go  back.  I'm  terrified. 
Sir  Edward,  do  let  me  out !  You  swore  you  would, 
if  I  asked  you.  You  know  you  did.  Oh,  do  let  me 
go!  I  feel  so  ill.  I  can't  stand  any  more.  Oh, 
please  let  me  out !" 

"Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  be  quiet,  you  stupid  creature !" 


200     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

he  cried,  smothering  her  prayers  in  a  loud  sternness. 
"Whether  you  go  or  stay,  you  certainly  can't  go  in 
this  baby  state.  Sit  down  and  collect  your  senses. 
Then  we'll  talk  it  over  rationally." 

"I  will  get  out — I  will!"  she  sobbed,  and  was  again 
at  the  door,  shaking  it  with  all  her  strength.  He 
watched  her  coldly. 

"It's  locked,"  he  told  her  presently.  "You  see 
that.  What's  the  use  of  battering  at  a  locked  door  ? 
One  would  scarcely  believe  that  you're  a  grown 
woman.     Come  here  and  sit  down,  as  I  told  you." 

She  turned  her  back  to  the  door,  gazing  on  him 
vacantly,  and  slightly  shook  her  head ;  but  there  was 
no  courage  in  her  face. 

"Come  here  and  sit  down!"  he  roared  suddenly, 
throwing  up  his  chin,  and  permitting  a  look  of  malig- 
nant fury  to  peep  for  an  instant  out  of  its  ambush. 

Shirley  took  a  step  to  one  of  the  chairs,  swayed 
sideways,  and  collapsed  into  it  and  against  the  table, 
with  closed  eyes.  After  contemplating  her  thought- 
fully for  a  little  while.  Sir  Edward  picked  up  one 
of  her  vsrrists,  held  it  for  a  second  or  so,  and  then 
carelessly  dropped  it.  Still  she  did  not  stir;  and 
taking  a  key  from  under  his  cassock,  he  went  out 
through  the  door  leading  into  the  corridor,  locking  it 
again  behind  him.  It  was  some  minutes  before  he 
returned,  his  features  now  almost  whollj^  composed 
to  the  semblance  of  grave  concern,  bearing  a  bed- 
room carafe  and  tumbler  in  his  hands.     Shirley's 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     201 

eyes  were  open  again,  and  her  cheek  rested  on  her 
hand,  but  she  was  as  white  as  snow,  and  seemed 
hardly  to  understand  her  surroundings.  He  half 
filled  the  tumbler  and,  coming  close  beside  her,  put 
his  left  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  with  the  other  held 
the  glass  to  her  lips. 

"Drink  some  of  this,"  he  said  encouragingly. 

She  sipped  it  slowly,  without  looking  at  him ;  and 
when  she  at  last  turned  her  head  away  from  the  glass, 
he  put  it  aside  with  the  bottle,  and  took  the  chair 
opposite  to  hers,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
leaning  across  it  towards  her,  until  their  faces  were 
not  more  than  three  feet  apart. 

"Now  you'll  feel  better,"  he  assured  her.  "I  had 
to  be  rather  rough  with  you,  for  you  were  losing  all 
self-control.  Don't  try  to  speak  for  a  minute  of  two. 
I  want  you  to  understand  the  position.  You  are 
here  with  me ;  there  is  no  one  else  within  call,  except 
those  who  take  their  orders  from  me ;  it  entirely  de- 
pends upon  me  whether  you  go  or  stay.  There  are 
things  you  must,  in  any  case,  be  told ;  and  I  haven't 
time  for  argument  or  childish  temper.  When  I  have 
finished — I  shan't  take  long — ^you  can  say  anything 
you  have  to  say.  Till  then,"  he  rapped  the  table 
lightly  with  his  knuckles,  "you  will  kindly  be  quiet." 

There  were  tears  on  the  girl's  frightened  face,  but 
she  only  looked  back  at  him  in  a  spell-bound  apathy. 
Once  or  twice,  during  what  followed,  her  lips  moved 
dumbly ;  once  she  even  stretched  a  hand  half-heartedly 


202     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

towards  him,  as  if  in  petition;  but  she  made  no 
sound,  nor  altered  her  attitude  of  exhausted  semi- 
consciousness, for  some  minutes. 

"You  have,"  he  reminded  her,  "definitely  refused, 
more  than  once,  to  come  back  to  the  chapel  with  me. 
That  is  to  say,  of  course,  that  you  refuse  to  come  of 
your  own  free  will.  I  needn't  point  out  to  you  that 
it  would  be  perfectly  easy  to  compel  your  attendance. 
But  that  is  not  to  be  thought  of ;  you  must  go  through 
your  initiation  willingly,  or  of  what  value  would  it 
be,  either  to  yourself  or  to  us?  I  say  you  must, 
Shirley ;  you  shall ;  yes,  and  you  will  when  you  know 
the  reason  why  I  take  all  this  trouble  about  you. 
Perhaps  I  should  have  spoken  before.  It  must  have 
made  things  easier.  But  I  did  not  realise  that  it 
was  necessary.  I  thought  that  you  were  quite  pre- 
pared to  join  us,  and  that  the  extraordinary  distinc- 
tion for  which  I  had  reserved  you  had  better  not  be 
disclosed  until  you  were  more  advanced.  But,  in  the 
face  of  your  present  incomprehensible  obstinacy,  I 
have  altered  my  view.  I  must  tell  you  now,  and  it 
seems  strange  that  words  should  be  necessary. 
Haven't  you  guessed  yet  ?  Haven't  you  seen  that  I 
want  you,  that  you  are  to  be  my  woman,  my  equal  in 
knowledge  and  power — mine  for  ever  ?" 

He  sat  erect  in  his  chair,  his  face  afire,  with  an 
air  of  incredible  and  arrogant  majesty.  So  might 
some  great  king  look,  some  Eoman  emperor  whose 
brain  had  sickened  in  the  consideration  of  his  ab- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     203 

solute  power  over  millions ;  who  had  already  declared 
his  own  apotheosis. 

"You  know  who  I  am  ?  You  would  say  that  you 
did.  You  would  describe  me  as  Sir  Edward  Talbot, 
a  rich  man;  one  who  has  made  a  fortune,  probably 
in  commerce,  and  bought  himself  a  knighthood;  a 
fairly  well-known  person  in  London  society,  and  the 
owner  of  a  country  house;  sufficiently  popular,  suf- 
ficiently amusing,  with  more  ideas  than  are  to  be 
expected  from  a  successful  financier.     Is  that  it?" 

Leaning  regally  back  in  his  chair,  he  laughed 
aloud. 

"What  right,  you  ask  then,  have  I  to  suppose  that 
the  possession  of  a  fortune  and  a  few  occult  fads 
gives  me  any  chance,  in  middle  life  and  with  no  great 
claim  to  physical  distinction,  of  attracting  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman,  who  is  herself  quite  reasonably 
well  off?  Well,  I'll  tell  you;  and  you  shall  see  if 
my  presumption  is  as  intolerable  as  you  imagine." 

Breaking  off,  he  seemed  to  look  for  a  suit-able  open- 
ing to  his  explanation ;  the  girl,  meanwhile,  offering 
him  no  help,  but  contemplating  him  with  the  same 
dazed  air. 

"At  one  of  our  early  meetings,  Shirley,"  he  said 
at  last,  "possibly  at  the  first,  you  asked  me  which  had 
been  my  college  at  Oxford ;  and,  when  I  hesitated  in 
answering,  you  put  me  down  in  your  mind  as  a  vul- 
gar liar.  That  was  natural  on  your  part,  but  a  mis- 
take.    I  had  truly  been  to  Worcester ;  but  in  my  day 


204,     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

it  was  known  as  Gloucester  Hall,  and  it  has  since 
been  not  only  renamed  but  rebuilt,  from  which  you 
will  gather  that  I  matriculated  some  time  ago.  You 
were  right.  It  was,  to  be  exact,  in  the  year  fifteen 
hundred  and  seventy  one,  and  I  was  sixteen  at  the 
time.     Fellows  went  up  earlier  then  than  now." 

Once  more  he  stopped  speaking,  and  looked  at 
Shirley  with  a  smiling  sternness.  Momentarily  she 
remained  unmoved,  as  if  the  words  had  hardly 
reached  her.  Then,  in  an  instant,  her  eyes  grew 
great  and  dark,  and  she  shrank  away  from  the  table, 
her  hands  gripping  the  edge  of  it,  and  her  body 
pressed  against  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"You  see  ?"  he  said.  "I'm  not  altogether  so  com- 
monplace a  creature  as  you  supposed.  Perhaps  you 
may  think  me  worthy  of  a  little  more  respect  than 
you  have  so  far  given  me.  My  fame  is  not  small; 
it  may  even  have  reached  your  ears — and  yet  I  don't 
know;  you  seem,  for  a  girl  of  intelligence,  to  be 
profoundly  ignorant.  .  .  .  Well,  I  did  not  call  my- 
self Talbot  at  Oxford.  That  was  my  mother's 
maiden  name  which  I  have  assumed  from  time  to 
time  for  adequate  reasons.  But  at  the  university, 
and  in  the  history  of  human  wisdom,  I  am  known  as 
Edward  Kelley." 

The  name,  flung  out  with  indescribable  pride,  ef- 
fected no  change  in  the  expression  and  attitude  of 
his  hearer.     Terror  was  the  only  emotion  to  be  traced 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     205 

on  her  features,  and  the  clenched  hands  on  the  table 
shook. 

"Even  at  sixteen  my  feet  were  set  on  the  right 
path.  I  saw — vaguely  enough  then,  it  is  true — but 
I  saw  a  glimmer  of  light;  and  the  passion  for  full 
illumination  tore  me.  In  my  boyhood  I  had  been 
trained  as  an  apothecary ;  and,  paltry  as  my  instruc- 
tion had  been,  it  had  been  sufficient  to  give  me  a  taste 
for  that  chemical  research  which  was  the  basis  of  all 
my  subsequent  discoveries.  In  such  things  I  shewed 
an  extraordinary  precocity  which  might  have  been 
expected  to  gain  me  general  admiration  and  respect ; 
but  the  truly  wise  have  the  world  against  them. 
You  will  find  that  yourself,  and  you  will  laugh  at  it, 
as  I  did  and  do.  The  ignoramuses  who  were  by 
way  of  being  my  teachers  were  sharp  enough  to  de- 
tect the  trend  of  my  studies ;  and  they  made  an  ex- 
cuse of  certain  boyish  dissipations  to  get  rid  of  one 
whom  they  feared  as  their  master.  I  was  sent  away 
from  a  college  that  detested  me  to  my  home  in  the 
town  of  Worcester,  where  I  was  little  better  liked. 
My  mother  was  dead;  my  brother  and  sister — a 
couple  of  fools — despised  me,  as  they  despised  all 
students.  My  father's  one  idea  had  always  been  to 
make  me  self-supporting  and  see  the  last  of  me.  In- 
formed by  my  tutors  that  I  was  useless  for  the  career 
for  which  he  had  designed  me,,  he  insisted  on  my  tak- 
ing up  his  own  profession — that  of  the  law — and 


206     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

earning  a  shady  living  as  a  country  attorney.  I  did 
not  care.  The  pretence  of  this  mean  trade  was  a 
good  enough  cloak  to  hide  my  true  and  secret  activ- 
ities. But  in  my  youth  I  was  a  poor  hand  at  dis- 
simulation. What  had  happened  at  Oxford,  hap- 
pened again,  nine  years  later,  at  Lancaster,  whither 
I  had  removed  from  Worcester  with  a  newly  married 
wife.  The  hatred  of  the  stupid  was  inflamed;  and, 
as  they  could  bring  no  real  charge  against  me,  they 
were  obliged  to  invent  a  ridiculous  story  of  forgery. 
The  dull  and  cruel  justice,  before  whom  they  hauled 
me,  was  filled  with  the  same  instinctive,  unreasoning 
loathing  of  a  personality  immeasurably  superior  to 
his  own.  I  am  sure  he  weighed  in  his  mind  the  pos- 
sibility of  sending  me  to  the  gallows ;  but  hardly  dar- 
ing to  go  so  far,  he  wreaked  as  brutal  a  vengeance  on 
me  as  he  thought  he  safely  might.  My  ears  were 
cropped,  and  I  was  whipped  out  of  the  town,  a  beg- 
gar and  a  felon," 

The  hatred  of  the  mob  was  evidently  not  even  yet 
as  ridiculous  to  Sir  Edward  as  he  had  asserted ;  for 
at  this  point  he  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room,  his 
brow  bent  and  his  eyes  glittering. 

"The  devils  nearly  succeeded  in  their  object.  It 
was  touch  and  go  whether  I  starved  or  not.  I  had  no 
books,  money  or  instruments;  the  mutilation  which 
they'd  inflicted  on  me  (you  can  see  the  marks  of  it 
still)  prevented  me  getting  any  but  the  meanest  work. 
Des|)air  had  nearly  conquered  me ;  but  I  resolved  to 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     207 

risk  one  more  throw  against  fate.  London,  or  rather, 
Mortlake,  was  my  goal — the  home  of  the  only  man 
whom  I  knew  to  be  likely  to  appreciate  my  genius — 
and  I  started  off  on  foot  I  had  to  steal,  more  than 
once,  to  keep  life  in  me  on  the  road — turnips  and  car- 
rots and  eggs,  which  I  ate  raw  under  the  hedge-rows 
where  I  slept  My  feet  were  in  rags,  my  hair  and 
beard  long  and  matted,  and  my  torn  clothes  encrusted 
with  mud,  but  I  reached  the  place  at  last,  and  walked 
straight  into  Dee's  house.  ^This  is  what  I  have 
learnt  and  discovered  and  guessed  at.  Such  and 
such  natural  gifts  I  have,'  I  told  him.  'Will  you 
take  me  as  an  assistant?'  Scarecrow  as  I  was,  he 
never  hesitated ;  and  for  six  years  we  were  insep- 
arable." 

Sir  Edward  sank  once  more  into  his  chair;  and, 
tilting  his  head  upwards  against  its  high  back,  medi- 
tated. Shirley  was  watching  him  with  undiminished 
fear,  but  with  a  livelier  attention.  Her  face  was  less 
pale,  her  attitude  more  rigid. 

"Dee  was  a  man  of  immense  learning,  tireless  in- 
dustry but  only  moderate  intuition ;  while  in  worldly 
affairs  he  was  one  of  the  stupidest  of  people — sus- 
picious, futile,  credulous  and  weakly  ill-tempered. 
If  you  have  never  heard  my  name  before,  Shirley,  I 
am  sure  that  of  Doctor  Dee  must  be  familiar  to  you. 
I  understand  that  he  appears  in  illustrated  books  for 
the  young,  which  probably  figure  largely  in  your  li- 
brary.    Some  day  I  must  amuse  myself  by  seeing 


208     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

what  they  have  made  of  him.  .  .  .  He  really  seemed 
to  be  a  treasury  of  all  human  knowledge,  but  he  him- 
self had  added  nothing  of  much  importance  to  the 
store.  That  was  his  dream,  the  realisation  of  which 
he  saw  to  be  possible  through  my  vastly  greater 
powers.  He  was  rich  enough  to  indulge  his  fancies 
and,  for  a  time,  to  keep  me  in  a  secondary  position ; 
moreover,  I  believe  he  had  a  personal  liking  for  me, 
at  first.  Joan,  my  wife,  was  summoned  from  the 
cottage  near  the  Coniston  Old  Man,  where  she  had 
taken  refuge,  to  set  up  house  with  myself.  Dee  and 
the  girl  whom  he  had  lately  married.  I  say  nothing 
against  Joan  Ivelley,  who  was  a  good  and  personable 
creature  enough ;  but  Jane  Dee  was  the  first,  and  al- 
most the  last,  woman  I  ever  met  who  seemed  to  me 
to  be  worthy  of  being  the  mate  of  a  philosopher. 
What  her  origin  was  I  don't  know ;  she  was  not  more 
than  half  his  age,  if  as  much ;  but  she  over-topped  his 
dusty  bookishness  as  loftily,  almost,  as  I  myself  did. 
She  had  all  the  gifts,  corporeal  and  incorporeal;  if 
I  had  had  time,  I  could  have  taught  her  everything; 
everything  that  I  shall  teach  you,  Shirley.  We  be- 
came lovers,  of  course.  That  was  inevitable;  for  I 
was  only  twenty-seven  then,  and  hardly  less  a  poet 
than  a  scientist  and  mystic.  Dee  knew  of  it,  and  ex- 
pressed no  sort  of  protest,  beyond,  I  fancy,  making 
retaliatory  advances  to  my  wife,  whether  with  suc- 
cess or  otherwise  I  was  not  sufficiently  interested  to 
enquire.     The  fact  is  that  we  two  men  were  far  too 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      209 

deeply  occupied  with  our  joint  researches  to  quarrel 
about  the  ownership  of  a  woman  or  so.  I  had  be- 
come his  skryer — or  speculator,  as  he  preferred  to 
call  it ;  that  is  to  say  that  it  was  I  who  peered  into 
the  immaterial  world,  and  brought  my  glimpses  and 
experiences  back  to  him,  to  be  examined  and  classi- 
fied in  the  light  of  his  prodigious  erudition.  I  know 
that,  after  we  had  quarrelled  and  parted,  he  accused 
me  of  robbing  him  of  his  wife's  love  by  a  pretended 
spirit  revelation,  seen  in  the  crystal  ball,  that  we 
were  to  hold  our  women  in  common — a  perfectly 
false  and  ludicrous  statement,  invented  in  sheer 
senile  jealousy  and  spite.  As  if  the  unseen  forces 
of  the  universe  would  be  likely  to  be  brought  into 
action  over  such  trivialities!  Nevertheless  his  as- 
sumed disapproval  of  my  profligacies  gave  him  a 
means  of  parting  me  from  Jane.  She  who  might 
have  been  by  my  side  at  this  moment,  as  young  and 
no  less  beautiful  than  yourself,  has  long  ago  rotted 
away  in  the  grave.     That  shall  not  be  your  fate." 

Momentarily  the  pride  had  gone  out  of  his  voice 
and  posture ;  and,  resting  his  cheek  on  his  hand,  he 
had  fallen  into  a  tone  of  quiet  reminiscence;  but 
when  he  once  more  took  up  his  tale,  the  old  vain- 
gloriousness  returned  rapidly. 

"Yet  God  knows  he  ought  to  have  been  forbearing 
with  me!  All  his  claims  to  immortalit}''  rest  on  my 
labours ;  indeed,  the  instructed,  nowadays,  have  trans- 
ferred the  unmerited  adulation  of  the  old  man  to  my- 


210     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

self.  It  was  I  who  suggested,  urged,  finally  insisted 
upon  that  excursion  into  the  West  Country  which 
had  so  marvellous  an  ending,  It  was  my  power  of 
divination  which  took  us,  after  protracted  wanderings 
— during  which,  by  the  way,  I  became  possessed  of 
that  term  of  Silvanus  which  you  saw  at  Overboume 
...  it  was  by  my  advice  that  we  came  to  Glaston- 
bury. Had  I  done  no  more  than  take  him  there,  he 
should  have  been  eternally  grateful ;  but  that  was  not 
all.  If  I  hadn't  been  with  him,  he  would  undoubt- 
edly have  gone  away  as  empty-handed  as  he  arrived. 
Not  he,  but  I,  found  the  rifled  tomb  in  the  abbey ;  7 
traced  the  thick-headed  inn-keeper,  who  little  guessed 
what  he  had  pilfered,  you  may  be  sure ;  I  grudgingly 
bargained  over  shillings  with  him,  for  the  sale  of  the 
'curiosities' ;  and  it  was  I  who  broke  in  on  Dee,  late 
at  night  and  crazed  with  joy,  to  share  with  him  the 
lost  secret  of  the  philosophers.  Why  should  I  have 
so  favoured  him?  It  is  true  that  he  was  more  ad- 
vanced in  the  practice  of  certain  occult  arts  than  I 
was.  His  wealth,  for  instance,  was  in  a  very  small 
degree  the  result  of  his  earnings  by  casting  horo- 
scopes and  what  not ;  it  would,  in  his  case,  be  literally 
accurate  to  say  that  he  made  nearly  all  his  money 
himself.  Alchemy  had  not  been  a  special  study  of 
mine ;  but  I  could  have  learned — indeed  I  did  after- 
wards learn.  It  was  not,  therefore,  mere  policy 
which  led  me  to  take  Dee  into  my  confidence.  I  can- 
not say  that  it  was  pure  affection  for  himself,  either ; 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      211 

I  am  not  affectionate,  nor  was  he  one  to  inspire  very 
warm  feelings.  But  I  loved  his  wife ;  and  she,  with 
a  woman's  inconsistency,  was  a  good  deal  concerned 
about  the  welfare  of  the  husband  whom  she  had,  as 
the  phrase  goes,  betrayed.  For  my  own  part,  too,  I 
saw  that  it  was  inadvisable  to  break  up,  at  that  time, 
an  association  which  was  convenient  to  me.  Until 
I  acquired  the  power  of  using  my  new  wisdom  fully, 
I  should  be  but  badly  off ;  and  Jane,  in  following  my 
separate  fortunes,  would  have  to  endure  a  sordid  be- 
ginning to  our  dual  life.  This  I  could  not  contem- 
plate; she  was  made  for  luxury,  physical  idleness, 
dreams  and  beauty.  Dee's  long  experimental  train- 
ing was  useful  to  me,  besides.  And  how  we  laboured, 
Shirley!  What  pangs  of  bitterness  and  fury,  what 
deliria  of  triumph  our  midnight  lamp  has  illumin- 
ated! What  wasted  cheeks  and  pale  eyes  have 
greeted  the  daylight!  Before  the  rupture  came  I 
had  picked  the  old  man's  brains  pretty  clean,  with- 
out giving  up  too  much  of  myself  in  return.  Con- 
ceive that  he  could  allow  so  contemptible  a  passion 
as  jealousy  to  divide  us  in  our  amazing  adventure! 
Yet  he  did  so;  and  when  I  parted  from  him,  in  fif- 
teen hundred  and  eighty-eight,  I  was  not  even  per- 
mitted to  say  a  word  of  farewell  to  the  girl  who  had 
so  often  lain  in  my  arms.  Some  pretence  of  a  for- 
giving generosity  he  hypocritically  maintained,  even 
then;  his  written  discharge  was  in  my  hand,  and  a 
speculator's  mirror,  a  book  and  some  other  trifles 


212     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

which  he  had  given  me  were  in  mj  scrip.  But  It 
was  hidden  in  my  clothing,  and  I  had  put  seven  hun- 
dred miles,  or  so,  of  land  and  sea  between  us, 
before  he  discovered  his  loss.  It  was  mine — I  had 
found  it ;  I  had  paid  a  guinea  for  it,  no  less !  But 
I  was  aware  that  he  regarded  it  as  his,  in  return  for 
his  interested  hospitality,  and  a  few  gifts  of  money 
which  had  cost  him  nothing.  He  would  never  have 
parted  from  it  without  a  struggle  to  the  death ;  and 
he  knew  enough  about  my  past  persecution,  and  had 
himself  sufficient  influence  with  the  great,  to  have 
me  thrown  into  prison.  It  seemed  to  me  advisable, 
therefore,  to  recover  my  property  by  stealth,  leaving 
Dee  my  wife  in  consolatory  exchange.  Will  you  be- 
lieve that  he  afterwards  put  it  about  the  town  that 
he  had  made  me  a  present  of  it  ?  By  this  account, 
he  had  condemned  himself  to  the  common  lot  of  mor- 
tals, and  parted  with  incalculable  powers,  by  giving 
up  the  key  of  all  knowledge,  before  he  had  learnt  to 
employ  it,  as  a  parting  present  to  an  unfaithful  ap- 
prentice who  had  seduced  his  wife.  It  shews  the 
unfathomable  idiocy  of  mankind  that  this  feeble  lie 
was  actually  accepted  as  a  fact.  .  .  .  You're  listen- 
ing?" 

The  sudden,  fierce  suspicion  with  which  he  shot 
the  question  at  Shirley  made  her  start  and  gasp ;  but 
she  nodded  submissively.  The  tensity  of  her  atti- 
tude suggested  that  she  was  ready  to  spring  up  at  any 
moment  and  fly  from  some  instant  peril.     Sir  Ed- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      213 

ward  seemed  to  remark  this,  and  smiled  with  an  im- 
perial indulgence. 

"Probably  you  are  a  little  alarmed — and  cer- 
tainly you  must  be  greatly  surprised — at  being  thus 
chosen  from  among  all  the  women  of  the  world  and  of 
the  last  three  centuries;  at  triumphing  over  all  the 
beauties  and  geniuses  and  great  ladies  with  whom 
you  rightly  believe  that  I  have  been  brought  in  con- 
tact. You,  with  your  diffident  ignorance,  and  your 
little  dressmaking  talent,  and  your  gentle  English 
prettiness !  I  cannot  explain  it  now ;  it  would  take 
more  time  than  I — and  more  perception  than  you, 
in  your  present  stage  of  development — have  got. 
But  I  hyiow  you  are  what  I  have  been  seeking ;  just 
as  I  knew  Jane  Dee  to  be,  so  many  years  ago.  If 
you  recoil,  naturally  enough,  from  the  first  glimpse 
of  this  tremendous  future,  you  will  soon  grow  ac- 
customed to  the  idea.  You  pray,  or  have  prayed,  in 
your  tasteless  Protestant  churches,  for  immortality, 
you  know;  and  a  very  insipid  form  of  it,  at  that. 
To  be  deathless  and  immune  from  the  seourgings  of 
humanity,  in  a  world  of  which  you  must  already  have 
guessed  the  unending  possibilities,  is  surely  a  more 
inviting  prospect  than  the  eternal  kow-towing  and 
strumming  on  harps  which  is  all  your  spiritual 
teachers  had  to  offer  you.  That  victory  over  death  I 
give  you;  at  least,"  he  hesitated  slightly,  "over  what 
they  call  natural  death ;  and  what  percentage  of  the 
population  of  civilised  countries  comes  to  a  violent 


214     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

end  ?  A  negligibly  small  one,  made  up  almost 
wholly  of  those  who  are  driven  by  folly  or  poverty 
into  dangerous  trades.  Disease  and  old  age  account 
for  nearly  all  of  us;  two  enemies  whom  you  and  I 
shall  never  meet.  We  are  our  own  law,  our  own 
moral  code.  Want  cannot  touch  us ;  whatever  money 
can  give  us  is  ours.  ...  In  this  last  respect  Dee  was 
my  equal;  but  the  final,  the  grand  secret  he  never 
knew.  It  was  not  until  I  had  been  parted  from  him 
for  over  three  years  that  my  labours  were  rewarded 
with  complete  success.  Look  at  me,  Shirley!  I 
was  thirty-six  years  old  then.  Three  hundred  and 
thirty-eight  years — is  it? — have  passed,  races,  coun- 
tries and  dynasties  have  vanished,  the  very  face  of 
the  heavens  has  changed,  and  you  may  say  that  I  am 
thirty-six  still.  I  look  more,  I  know.  We  matured 
sooner,  in  those  days;  and  think,  too,  of  my  exer- 
tions and  privations!  But  I  swear  to  you  that  I 
have  not  lost  a  hair,  or  added  a  wrinkle,  since  that 
night  when,  in  my  great  dusky  room  in  Prague,  I 
put  the  cup  to  my  lips." 

A  strange  glaze  had  been  creeping  over  the  girl's 
eyes  during  the  latter  part  of  his  speech.  ISTow  and 
again  she  put  back  her  shoulders  resolutely,  raised 
a  hand  to  her  forehead,  or  drew  a  long  breath,  as 
people  will  when  faintness  comes  over  them  in  some 
public  place.  In  spite  of  the  growing  chill  of  the 
room  as  the  fire  died,  her  cheeks  were  brightly 
flushed;  and  this,  combined  with  her  clouded  and 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      215 

confused  gaze,  gave  her  something  of  the  air  of  one 
in  an  early  stage  of  drunkenness.  Her  hands  had 
grown  restless,  but  her  lips  were  still  silent. 

"As  I  had  flown  from  my  tormentors  in  Lancaster 
to  Dee,"  Sir  Edward  went  on,  "so  I  fled  from  the  in- 
tolerable pettiness  of  Dee  to  the  Emperor.  Ample 
means,  undisturbed  privacy,  the  use  of  great  libraries 
and  laboratories,  and  complete  freedom  from  care 
and  responsibility  were  essential,  if  my  work  was  to 
succeed.  As  a  philosopher,  I  naturally  knew  Ru- 
dolf by  reputation.  "With  all  his  faults,  he  was  one 
of  the  few  great  monarchs  of  history.  He  had  an  in- 
satiable lust  for  knowledge;  and  he  received  me  with 
the  welcome  that  befitted  me.  Little  as  his  despic- 
able court  sycophants  relished  the  favour  that  he 
bestowed  on  me,  they  were  compelled  to  conceal  their 
jealousy  and  to  provide  me  with  the  surroundings 
that  I  asked — such  gifts  as  none  but  a  very  great 
noble  or  king  could  have  bestowed.  In  the  history 
of  wisdom,  Rudolf  deserves  a  high  place  for  this 
alone.  But  he  was  a  difficult  creature;  violent  in 
temper  (a  fault  of  which  he  never  tired  of  accusing 
me)  overbearing,  easily  swayed  at  the  same  time,  and 
furiously  impatient.  Because  I  was  a  great  phil- 
osopher, the  greatest  then  or  since,  therefore  I  must 
be  able  to  explain  every  secret  of  nature  to  him.  A 
contemporary  of  mine  (of  whom  I  know  you  have 
heard)  a  little,  ribald  actor  who  was  oddly  enough  a 
matchless  poet  and  had  met  and,  in  his  purely  in- 


216     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

stinctive  way,  sounded  the  depths  of  most  of  the 
great  thinkers  of  that  incomparably  wise  age,  had 
said,  truly  and  tritely  enough,  in  one  of  his  plays 
that  there  were  more  things  in  earth  and  heaven  than 
were  dreamt  of  in  Philosophy.  The  sneer  at  philoso- 
phy is  negligible.  It  is  so ;  it  must  always  be  so ;  and 
Rudolf  resented  this.  Moreover,  the  astounding,  un- 
rivalled powers  which  I  had  acquired  were  little  in- 
teresting to  him  unless  employed  for  his  glory  and 
satisfaction.  He  guessed,  accurately,  that  I  was  keep- 
ing much  from  him ;  he  condescended  to  the  slander  of 
the  back-stairs;  and  I,  whom  he  had  not  only  enriched 
but  ennobled,  was  thrown,  without  explanation,  into 
jail.  You  may  believe  that  I  did  not  endure  this 
humiliation  for  long.  One  morning  the  doors  were 
found  open,  the  warder  dead;  and  I  presented  my- 
self unexpectedly  before  the  throne.  Rudolf  saw 
that  he  had  misjudged  my  courage  no  less  than  my 
power ;  and  for  a  while  I  was  higher  in  favour  than 
ever.  Then  his  madness  returned.  Flattery  had 
made  him  rank  himself  among  the  gods ;  past  doubt, 
his  mind  was  actually  unhinged.  In  an  unguarded 
moment  I  reminded  him  of  my  superiority  to  a  royal 
amateur;  and  in  a  fury  of  outraged  pride  he  loaded 
me  again  with  chains.  This  time  I  felt  that  I  had 
indulged  the  megalomaniac  too  long.  He  had  served 
my  purpose  well ;  I  needed  him  no  more.  Towards 
the  end  of  fifteen  ninety-five,  after  a  short  pretence 
of  accepting  my  fate,  I  broke  prison  again,  and  left 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      217 

,Boliemia.  Judge  of  his  anger  when  he  heard  of  his 
defeat  and  his  irremediable  loss!  He  sedulously 
spread  the  report  that  I  had  broken  my  neck  in  an 
attempt  to  let  myself  down  from  the  walls  of  my  dun- 
geon— his  vanity  was  as  small-minded  as  that.  The 
lie  has  passed  into  history,  and  little  does  it  affect  my 
happiness.  Sir  Edward  Kelley  can  afford  to  smile 
today  over  the  mortified  conceit  of  a  forgotten  ruler, 
who  took  his  vaunted  divinity  to  the  tomb  centuries 
ago.  Who  knows  or  cares  anything  about  the  Em- 
pereor  Kudolf  the  Second  nowadays  ?" 

As  he  asked  the  question,  his  glance  once  more 
sought  the  blindly  unresponsive  face  of  Shirley ;  and 
suddenly  catching  her  hands  in  his  he  shook  them  in 
a  sort  of  angry  disappointment. 

"Don't  you  appreciate  it  yet?"  he  cried.  "Don't 
you  see  the  wonder  of  your  position — that  an  honour 
has  been  paid  you  such  as  no  woman  has  ever  before 
received  in  the  history  of  the  race  ?  Answer !  You 
and  I  are  alone — the  unique  man,  the  unique  woman 
— set  high  above  the  heads  of  all  tlie  living  and  the 
dead.  Not  even  my  followers,  who  are  waiting  be- 
low for  your  return,  have  an  inkling  of  your  destiny. 
They  suppose  you  to  be  an  ordinary  novice,  as  each 
of  them  has  been  in  the  past;  greatly  privileged  in- 
deed by  my  choice,  for  most  of  them  had  to  beg  for 
admission.  But  that  I  should  lift  you  up  in  one  mo- 
ment from  the  dead  level  of  mankind  to  my  own  al- 
titude .  .  .  such  an  idea  would  be  almost  inconceiv- 


218     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

able  to  them.  Shirley,  in  half  an  hour,  or  less,  your 
initiatory  rites  will  be  over.  .  .  ." 

"What  was  that  you  gave  me  to  drink  ?"  said  the 
girl  unexpectedly,  in  a  loud,  unsteady  voice.  Her 
face  was  scarlet,  and  her  eyelids  constantly  closed 
and  reopened  heavily.  "I  thought  it  was  water  .  .  . 
What  was  it  ?     I  feel  so  ill." 

"That  will  soon  pass  off,"  he  said  calmly,  smiling 
on  her  with  open  significance.  "You  may  endure  it 
gladly.  It  is  the  last  illness  or  discomfort  that  you 
will  ever  have  to  suffer." 

Before  he  had  said  the  words,  she  had  sprung  to 
her  feet,  swayed  for  a  moment,  with  closed  eyes,  and 
then,  pulling  herself  together,  reached  the  window 
and  thrown  up  the  bottom  sash. 

"I'm  going  to  faint,"  she  said  feebly.  "Then 
there  was  something  .  .  .    ?     I'm  going  to  faint." 

Leaning  both  hands  on  the  ledge,  she  drew  deep 
breaths  of  the  icy  air,  looking,  in  fact,  as  if  she  might 
at  any  instant  fall  to  the  ground.  Sir  Edward 
pushed  up  one  of  the  chairs  from  the  table  to  her  side, 
and  she  sank  into  it,  with  her  forehead  in  her  two 
hands. 

"I  think  not,"  he  quietly  assured  her,  as  he  stood 
over  her,  regarding  her  with  the  same  expression  of 
triumphant  expectancy.  "There!  Eest  here  a  lit- 
tle, and  think  over  what  I've  said.  The  cold  doesn't 
matter.     !Nothing  can  hurt  you  now.     In  five  min- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      219 

utes  I  will  come  back  for  you.  Everything  must  be 
ready  by  tbis  time." 

"I  won't  come  with  you;  I'd  rather  die,"  mur- 
mured Shirley  with  a  hopeless  obstinacy,  her  face 
still  concealed  in  her  hands. 

"You  will  do  what  you're  told,"  Sir  Edward  coldly 
insisted.  ''How  can  you  imagine  that,  after  letting 
you  into  the  secrets  of  my  life,  I  should  allow  you  to 
throw  us  all  over,  and  take  a  cowardly  refuge  with 
your  scandalising  middle-class  friends?  You  have 
gone  too  far  to  retreat.     Make  up  your  mind  to  that." 

"Oh,  I  take  my  oath  I  won't  say  a  word,"  she 
sobbed  incoherently.  "Sir  Edward,  you  used  to  be 
so  nice  .  .  .  don't  be  so  horribly  cruel.  .  .  ." 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  asked  angrily.  "What's  the 
matter  ?  What  are  you  crying  about  ?  What  do  you 
imagine  is  going  to  be  done  to  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  whispered,  raising  her  vague, 
suffused  eyes  to  his  implacable  face.  "Something 
dreadful.  .  .  .  Mr.  Burrell  told  me  of  ghastly  things 
that  happened  in  London  .  .  .  somewhere  near  Hol- 
bora.  He  said  you  did  them.  I  didn't  believe  him, 
of  course  ...  it  was  years  and  years  ago.  But  it 
was  the  same  sort.  .  .  ." 

"Oh  ?"  Sir  Edward  interrupted  her  with  an  inter- 
rogative inflexion;  and  seemed  to  ruminate.  "So 
Gathorne  goes  as  far  as  that,  does  he?  H'm!  He 
must  be  pacified.  .  .  .  Well,  he  spoke  the  truth,  to 


220     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

this  extent  only ;  I  was  concerned  in  the  affair.    After 
what  you've  heard  from  me,  you'll  understand  that 
thirty  years  or  so  makes  no  more  physical  difference 
to  me  than  thirty  minutes.     So  that's  what's  been 
frightening  you,  you  silly  girl,  is  it?     Surely  you 
can't  believe  that  you  would  be  compelled  to  go 
through  any  such  tests  as  Clara — the  young  woman 
of  whom  you  heard — underwent,  entirely,  I  may  tell 
you,  of  her  own  choice.     You  will  find,  as  you  learn 
more,  that  initiates,  while  in  the  lower  grades,  some- 
times desire  to  subject  themselves  to  certain  mortifi- 
cations, which  react  beneficially  on  the — spirit,  shall 
we  say  ? — and  enable  them  to  reach  a  higher  position 
more  readily  than  they  otherwise  might.     You  must 
have  heard   of   similar  practices   in  the   Christian 
church.     Clara  attempted  too  much  for  her  strength 
— her    heart,    I    gather,    was    weak.     Some    busy- 
body interrupted  us  before  we  could  recover  her ;  and 
she  paid  the  penalty  which  many  pay  in  the  search 
for  knowledge.     But  can  you  suppose  that  I  should 
wish,  or  even  permit  your  body — your  little  white 
body — to  be   broken   by   such   rigorous    discipline? 
Why  should  it  be  useful,  even  if  I  gave  my  consent 
to  it  ?     The  road  is  to  be  no  painful  one  to  you.     You 
only,  since  time  began,  will  gain  the  rewards  with- 
out undergoing  the  toil  and  pain.     Through  me,  you 
are  spared  all  that.     The  initiation  is  a  mere  form, 
but  an  essential  form.  .  .  .  Come,  I  mustn't  waste 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     221 

any  more  time.  When  I  have  seen  that  everything 
is  in  order,  I  will  fetch  you." 

He  turned  towards  the  archway,  paused,  and  added 
over  his  shoulder,  in  a  passionless  tone  of  warning: 

"For  your  own  sake,  Shirley,  I  strongly  advise  you 
to  be  obedient  and  reasonable." 

She  had  dropped  her  head  against  the  window 
frame,  her  eyes  half  shut,  her  breath  coming  and  go- 
ing with  difficulty;  and  she  appeared,  although  still 
conscious,  incapable  of  further  struggle  or  protest. 
As  he  turned  his  parting  glance  on  the  helpless  form. 
Sir  Edward  drew  himself  up,  and,  as  once  or  twice 
before  during;  the  story,  seemed  actually  to  swell  in 
stature  in  a  gloomy  transfiguration  of  mastery. 
Then  silently  he  passed  through  the  low  arch  and  was 
gone. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Shirley,  wearily  roll- 
ing her  head  sideways  against  the  window  frame, 
turned  a  heavy  gaze  on  the  spot  where  she  had  last 
seen  him  stand.  Terror  sprang  into  her  dull  eyes 
momentarily,  as  she  found  herself  alone ;  and  clutch- 
ing and  pawing  at  the  walls,  she  contrived  to  regain 
her  feet  and  get  as  far  as  the  corridor  door,  which 
for  the  last  time  she  shook  feebly.  In  the  same 
mechanical  way  she  staggered  to  the  table,  and  con- 
templated it  blankly  for  some  seconds.  The  glass 
from  which  she  had  drunk  still  contained  a  little 
liquid,  and  with  a  sudden  movement  she  put  it  to 


222     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

her  lips  and  drained  it.  She  had  hardly  done  so 
before  a  returning  intelligence  began  to  awake  in  her 
face.  Gradually  the  lividness  of  her  pallor  became 
less  intense.  Her  eyes  opened  widely,  and  filled  with 
an  unnatural  glitter.  Biting  her  lip,  she  stared  shiv- 
eringly  on  the  head  of  the  chapel  stairs,  before,  with 
a  rapid,  crouching  run,  reaching  it  and  bending  her 
ear  towards  the  darkness.  Far  below,  the  faint  sound 
of  bare  feet  on  stone  flags  could  be  distinguished  in 
the  silence.  Shirley,  catching  her  fur  cloak  tightly 
about  her,  gazed  around  in  desperation.  The  long 
blue  veils  still  lay  in  the  chair  upon  which  Sir  Ed- 
ward had  been  sitting;  and,  picking  them  up,  she 
knotted  them  together  with  frantic  haste  and  fled  to 
the  open  window.  Then,  as  if  she  could  find  no  way 
of  employing  them,  she  threw  them  from  her,  and 
listened  again.  The  shuffling  noise  of  the  quiet  feet 
approached  nearer  and  nearer.  A  moment  more  she 
hesitated,  searching  the  outer  darkness  with  distracted 
eyes;  and  then  with  an  unnatural  activity  she  had 
scrambled  onto  the  window-sill  and,  without  a  pause, 
thrown  herself  among  the  bare  branches  of  the  tree 
that  grew  close  beside  the  house.  Her  body  missed 
the  great  bough  and  fell  among  the  tangle  of  twigs 
and  lesser  limbs  which  broke  beneath  her  weight.  A 
scream  of  terror  rang  out  of  the  blackness  of  the 
night,  as  Sir  Edward  Talbot  appeared  once  more  in 
the  doorway  and  shot  a  lightning  glance  about  the 
empty  room. 


CHAPTEK  X 

TELEPHOOTCALLY  summoned  with  a  mys- 
terious instancy,  Joyce  Cassilis  rang  at  the 
door  of  the  Wigmore  Street  flat  at  half-past  five 
o'clock  on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  and  was  at  once 
admitted  into  the  glowing  little  drawing-room,  where 
its  owner  awaited  her. 

Shirley,  although  dressed  in  a  most  covetable  gar- 
ment of  the  palest  pink  satin,  trimmed  with  dull 
gold  lace,  her  bare  arms  veiled  with  a  cloud  of  rosy 
net,  was  yet  a  lamentable  spectacle.  She  could 
scarcely  limp  across  the  room  to  greet  her  visitor; 
there  was  a  dark  bruise  on  her  temple,  a  long  angry 
scratch  from  eye  to  chin  on  one  side  of  her  face,  her 
under  lip  was  cut,  and  her  left  hand  was  covered 
with  bandages.  In  her  pretty  tea-gown,  with  her 
cunningly  dressed  hair,  she  presented  something  of 
the  appearance  of  one  of  those  seasoned  wax  figures 
which  may  be  seen  in  the  windows  of  the  lesser  dress- 
makers, displaying  the  latest  "Paris  models"  and 
languidly  admiring  the  maimed  hands  which  they 
stretched  out  before  them  in  Unintelligible  gestures. 

"Good  Lord!"  cried  Joyce,  visibly  recoiling  from 

this  war-stained  apparition.     "What  have  you  been 

up  to  ?" 

223 


224     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

Shirley  smiled  feebly,  shook  her  head,  sank  on  the 
divan,  cried  a  little,  dried  her  eyes  with  three  square 
inches  of  gaudy  cobweb,  and  smiled  again. 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  said. 

"Well,  so  long  as  you're  satisfied,"  answered 
Joyce,  in  a  resigned  ellipsis,  as  she  turned  away, 
blushing,  to  lay  aside  her  long  coat  of  grey  squirrel's 
fur.  As  she  openly  confessed,  she  despised  tears, 
and  people  in  trouble  only  embarrassed  her, 

"I'm  sorry  I  look  such  a  sight,"  the  culprit  apolo- 
gized.    "Have  you  had  tea  ?" 

"Two,  thanks;  but  one  of  your  heavy,  opium- 
tainted  cigarettes  might  steady  my  nerves.  What  are 
these  ?  The  old  'Three  Castles'  ?  Oh,  'Harlequins !' 
I  love  them ;  they've  got  such  a  topping  scent,  haven't 
they  ?  And  the  picture  on  the  box  is  nice,  too.  .  .  . 
Tell  me  about  the  dog-fight — or  were  you  chucked 
out  of  a  taxi  ?" 

Her  friend  hesitated,  and  delicately  sniffed ;  but  it 
proved  a  false  alarm,  for  no  tears  followed.  Pres- 
ently she  spoke  rather  shamefacedly. 

"It's  such  an  extraordinary  story.  I  don't  sup- 
pose you'll  believe  a  word  of  it ;  and  yet  you  did  warn 
me  against  that  man,  several  times,  didn't  you  ?" 

"What  ?  Who  ?"  cried  Joyce  loudly,  her  blue  eyes 
leaping  into  indignant  flame.  "Do  you  mean  Ed- 
ward Talbot  ?  Shirley !  He  hasn't  dared  to  knock 
jou  about  like  .  .  ." 

"No,  oh  no!"  the  other  hurriedly  interrupted,  to 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     225 

arrest  her  friend's  gathering  fury.  "I've  been  down 
at  his  place — where  you  went,  you  know.  I  don't 
know  how  I  ever  got  back  alive.  But  he  didn't  give 
me  these  bruises.  I  got  those  .  .  .  well,  I'll  tell 
you." 

And  amid  the  pestilential  effluvium  that  arose  from 
Joyce's  cigarette  she  began,  falteringly  and  with 
many  corrections  and  redundancies,  to  tell  her  tale. 
Before  long,  however,  she  warmed  to  her  work,  and 
words  flowed  more  easily;  while  Joyce,  for  once 
hushed  into  mute  amazement,  sat  staring  on  her  from 
the  other  end  of  the  divan. 

"I  didn't  realise  for  some  time  after  I'd  drunk  the 
water  that  he'd  put  anything  in  it.  It  left  rather  a 
funny  taste  in  my  mouth,  but  I  thought  that  was  only 
fancy.  And  then  I  began  to  have  the  most  peculiar 
feeling.  I  don't  know  how  to  describe  it.  I  wasn't 
exactly  sleepy  or  stupid ;  because  I  heard  every  word 
he  said,  and  understood  him  perfectly.  But  all  my 
strength  seemed  to  be  going — my  will,  I  mean.  I 
knew  I  mustn't  give  way  to  it,  and  I  did  try  and  pull 
myself  together.  But  I  found  myself  wondering, 
every  few  minutes,  whether  it  was  worth  making  a 
fuss;  whether  it  wouldn't  save  trouble  to  do  what  I 
was  told." 

"Shirley!" 

"I  know.  .  .  .  And,  of  course,  the  next  second  I 
was  horrified  at  having  even  thought  of  such  a  thing, 
and  more  determined  than  ever  to  kill  myself  rather 


226     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

than  give  in.  But  I  had  a  ghastly  certainty  that  I 
couldn't  hold  on  much  longer,  and  that  this  stuff, 
whatever  it  was,  would  get  the  better  of  me  at  last ; 
and  that  he  knew  it,  and  that  was  why  he'd  given  it 
to  me.  Did  I  tell  you  that  I  taxed  him  with  putting 
something  in  the  water,  and  he  didn't  deny  it? 
What  could  it  have  been  ?" 

"Some  sort  of  dope,"  Joyce  guessed,  trying  to  in- 
hale her  smoke,  and  becoming  momentarily  black  in 
the  face.  "I  was  pretty  sure  he  doped.  All  that  lot 
do,  and  they  look  pink  and  soft  and  sleepy  and  gen- 
erally filthy.  Haven't  you  noticed  Magdalen  some- 
times, and  that  revolting  Gathorne?  Only  he  goes 
flabby  white,  like  a  sweetbread,  instead  of  pink. 
Ugh!  .  .  .  Shirley,  you  might  have  fainted,  and 
then  what  would  have  happened !  Go  on,  do !  How 
did  you  get  away  ?" 

"Do  you  know  what  I  think  it  was?  Or  at  any 
rate  what  he  thought  it  was?  That  stuff  that  he'd 
taken  himself,  to  make  himself  live  for  ever,"  Shirley 
murmured,  with  wide  eyes  of  mystery.  "Because 
he  said  such  a  funny  thing  about  it,  when  I  told  him 
it  had  made  me  feel  ill.  He  said :  'You'll  soon  feel 
all  right  again ;  and  then  you'll  never  be  ill  any  more, 
as  long  as  you  live.'  And  afterwards  he  said:  'It 
doesn't  matter  having  the  window  open;  you  can't 
catch  any  more  cold  now.'  Don't  you  think  that  was 
it  ?     You  see  he  practically  told  me  he  was  going  to 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      227 

give  it  me  sometime — after  I'd  been  initiated,  I  ima- 
gined." 

^'It  doesn't  matter  much  what  lie  thought  it  was ; 
though  I'm  quite  sure  he  never  thought  anything  of 
the  kind,"  argued  the  younger  girl.  "Get  on !  I 
want  to  hear  how  you  escaped  from  the  loathsome  old 
devil." 

"Well,  I  knew  I  shouldn't  have  any  chance  in  a 
struggle  with  him;  and  besides  he  had  such  a  lot  of 
people  waiting  to  help — that  dreadful  black,  and  the 
footman,  and  probably  those  friends  of  his  downstairs 
— these  horrible  creatures  whose  voices  I  heard.  So 
I  said  I  felt  faint,  and  went  and  sat  by  the  open  win- 
dow ;  and  I  thought :  *If  he  lays  a  hand  on  me,  or 
the  time  comes  when  I  can't  bear  it  any  more,  I'll 
throw  myself  out,  and  then  I  shall  either  be  killed, 
or  get  away.'  " 

"You  might  only  have  broken  your  legs,  or  some- 
thing." 

"I  thought  of  that;  but  then  they  couldn't  have 
gone  on  with  the  initiation,  or  whatever  it  was,  if  I 
had  broken  legs,  could  they  ?" 

"Goodness  knows !  'Initiation'  may  be  only  a  way 
of  saying  that  they  meant  to  make  you  into  a  pie. 
Kever  mind  that,  though ;  get  on !" 

"I  wonder  he  didn't  guess ;  but  I  did  my  best  not 
to  seem  too  frightened,  so  he  probably  didn't  dream 
how  absolutely  desperate  I  was,  or  he  wouldn't  have 


228      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

left  me  alone  for  an  instant.  Anyhow,  he  went  away 
to  the  chapel,  saying  he  was  coming  back  for  me  in  a 
minute  or  two.  I  was  determined  he  shouldn't  find 
me  there  when  he  did ;  but  by  this  time  I  was  feeling 
so  horribly  ill  that  I  doubted  if  I'd  be  strong  enough 
even  to  climb  out  of  the  window.  Then  I  remem- 
bered the  stuff  he'd  given  me  to  drink.  It  had 
bucked  me  up  most  tremendously  just  for  a  minute 
or  two  after  I'd  taken  it,  and  perhaps  it  might  have 
the  same  effect  again,  for  long  enough  to  let  me  get 
clear  of  the  house.  There  was  nothing  left  in  the 
bottle;  evidently  he'd  only  mixed  the  amount  he 
wanted,  and  put  it  into  a  bedroom  bottle  so  that  I 
should  think  he'd  brought  in  the  first  water  he  could 
find.  But  there  was  still  a  little  drop  at  the  bottom 
of  the  glass;  and,  sure  enough,  as  soon  as  I'd  swal- 
lowed it,  I  felt  all  my  beastly  qualms  pass  off,  and 
I  wasn't  dizzy  or  drowsy  or  cold  or  feeble ;  only  ter- 
rified to  death  and  furiously  angry.  .  .  .  And  then, 
Joyce,  I  heard  him  coming  back." 

She  paused,  partly  for  dramatic  effect,  perhaps, 
but  largely  to  give  an  obviously  genuine  shudder. 
Joyce's  eyes  were  intent. 

"Bare  feet  slapping  ever  so  gently  on  the  stone 
steps.  .  .  .  Then  I  went  quite  mad.  I  can't  think 
how  I  ever  dared  to  do  it,  but  I  got  on  the  window- 
sill,  and  jumped  at  a  big  branch  that  was  near  me. 
Oh,  Joyce !  When  I  knew  I'd  missed  it !  I  didn't 
utter  a  sound ;  I  just  fell  and  fell  and  fell — miles,  it 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     229 

seemed,  bouncing  off  things,  and  breaking  through 
great  tangles  of  stuff,  till  I  came  up  against  a  bough 
that  was  thick  enough  to  stop  me  for  a  second.     It 
bruised  me  like  anything,  but  I  didn't  feel  it  till 
to-day ;  and  then  it  broke  too,  and  I  fell  into  a  lot  of 
leaves  and  mould  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.     If  it  hadn't 
luckily  been  soft,  or  if  I'd  had  a  clear  drop,  instead 
of  cannoning  off  branches  all  the  way  down,  I  should 
have  been  killed,  or  crippled  at  least.     Even  as  it 
was,  I  believe  my  coat  saved  me  from  being  badly 
hurt.     It's  very  thick — double  lined — and  long,  and 
I'd  wrapped  it  round  me  tightly  before  I  jumped. 
And  it  was  simply  in  rags.     However  I  wasn't  very 
much  the  worse,  although  the  breath  was  all  knocked 
out  of  me,  naturally ;  and  there  I  lay  for  a  bit,  staring 
up  through  the  boughs  at  the  sky,  or  where  the  sky 
ought  to  have  been — I  could  only  see  a  foot  or  two 
above  my  face.     Very  likely  I  should  have  stayed 
there  in  a  stupid  sort  of  dream,  and  been  caught  and 
taken  back,  if  he  hadn't  looked  out  of  the  window, 
to  see  if  he  could  spot  me,  I  suppose.     He  was  hold- 
ing that  little  lamp  high  above  his  head,  and  I  could 
just  make  out  his  face,  and  one  look  at  that  was  quite 
enough.     I  scrambled  onto  my  hands  and  knees,  as 
soon  as  he  pulled  in  his  head,  and  crawled  off  through 
the  bushes,  as  quickly  and  quietly  as  I  could.     You 
see,  he  must  have  known  I'd  gone  out  of  the  window ; 
there  wasn't  any  other  way;  and  he'd  be  perfectly 
certain  to  have  the  place  searched,  if  only  to  find  out 


230     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

whether  I  was  dead  or  alive ;  so  all  I  could  hope  to 
do  was  to  get  onto  the  road,  where  I  might  meet  some- 
body— even  a  tramp  would  have  been  lovely  to  see 
then,  though  I  hate  them  as  a  rule,  don't  you  ?  Or, 
if  I  didn't  find  anyone,  I'd  walk  till  I  couldn't  go 
any  further,  and  then  sleep  in  a  barn,  or  under  a 
hedge,  or  somewhere.  But  I  never  made  any  real 
plan ;  just  to  get  away  from  that  man  was  all  I  cared 
about,  particularly  as  I  knew  the  effect  of  the  stuff 
I'd  drunk  was  wearing  off  again  already,  and  leav- 
ing me  sicker  and  drowsier  than  ever.  I  began  to 
be  afraid  that  I  should  only  be  able  to  move  at  all 
for  a  few  more  minutes ;  so  I  must  make  the  most  of 
them,  and  get  as  far  as  possible  from  this  awful  house 
in  the  time.  So  after  crawling  about  twenty  yards, 
I  got  up  and  ran.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  plunge 
bang  into  a  hollybush — at  least,  it  felt  like  holly, 
but  you  couldn't  see  an  inch  among  all  those  shrubs 
and  things — and  it  knocked  me  down,  and  tore  my 
face  and  hands.  I  felt  just  as  I  used  to  feel  when  I 
was  small  and  fell  down  on  the  gravel  in  our  garden 
at  home.  I  cried  when  I'd  picked  myself  up,  I 
couldn't  help  it;  but  I  managed  to  skirt  round  the 
bush,  and  found  myself  on  a  widish  path,  which 
looked  just  a  little  paler  than  the  blackness  every- 
where else.  It  seemed  to  run  down  hill,  and  I  hoped 
it  would  lead  to  the  lodge-gate  and  the  high-road. 
I  felt  such  an  idiot,  tearing  along  in  stocking-feet — 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      231 

both  my  shoes  had  gone  as  I  fell  down  the  tree — and 
crying  as  I  went." 

Her  eyes  were  overflowing  again  with  the  remem- 
brance of  her  Odyssey ;  but  Joyce  kept  her  gaze  fixed 
on  the  glowing  end  of  her  mephitic  cigarette,  appar- 
ently unconscious  of  her  friend's  weakness. 

''Once  or  twice,"  Shirley  continued,  "I  pulled  up 
and  listened,  while  I  got  my  breath.  There  wasn't 
a  sound.  The  night  was  as  still  as  still.  That,  and 
the  sickening  sleepy  dizziness  that  was  coming  over 
me  worse  and  worse  every  moment  made  me  slacken 
up  a  little.  I  was  sure  I'd  got  far  enough  away 
by  this  time  to  have  given  him  quite  a  large  part 
of  the  grounds  to  hunt  for  me  in ;  and  in  the  pitch 
darkness  it  wouldn't  be  an  easy  job.  If  I  didn't 
rest  before  long,  I  felt  I  should  fall  down  and  die. 
I  wanted  so  badly  to  sleep,  Joyce.  Wasn't  it  funny  ? 
I  began  to  long  for  sleep  even  more  than  to  be  safe ; 
and  I  kept  saying  aloud  to  myself  as  I  walked  on: 
'Just  thirty  yards  more,'  and  so  on.  ''Just  to  the 
bottom  of  the  hill.  It  must  be  close,  now.'  And 
then  I  stumbled  and  fell  on  my  knees,  and  could 
hardly  get  up  again.  I  was  quite  done;  I  should 
have  to  stay  where  I  was,  and  trust  to  luck.  There 
was  a  big  climap  of  bushes  touching  my  elbow,  and 
I  pushed  my  way  through  them  into  a  little  clearing, 
and  there  was  Mr.  Burrell  sitting  on  the  ground  and 
staring  up  at  me." 


232     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

The  seemingly  unconscious  artfulness  of  this  nar- 
rative surprise  brought  Joyce  bolt  upright  in  her 
chair,  with  a  face  of  amazement. 

''Oh,  Shirley !    You  must  have  been  lightheaded." 

"I^o,  no.     It  was  Mr.  Burrell  all  right." 

"But  .  .  .  but.  .  .  ."  Joyce's  tone  of  protest 
was  almost  indignant.  "Sitting  in  the  middle  of  a 
bush  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  the  middle  of  the 
winter !     What  do  you  make  out  he  was  after  ?" 

"I  can't  imagine.  But  there  he  was.  I  was  wide 
awake  still,  and  quite  sensible.  Eeally,  Joyce,  I'm 
not  mad ;  it  was  him." 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  ?  Just  now  you  told 
me  that  it  was  pitch  dark." 

"He  had  an  electric  lamp;  one  of  those  little 
polished  boxes,  with  a  round  glass  in  front,  you 
know.  I  fancy  he  switched  it  on  as  I  came  through 
the  bush,  to  see  who  I  was,  of  course;  and  I  could 
see  his  face  for  the  moment  as  plainly  as  I  see 
yours  now." 

Joyce  resigned  herself  to  the  fabulous  with  an  un- 
convinced grunt. 

"Did  he  seem  surprised  to  see  you  ?" 

"I'm  not  sure.  No,  I  think  not ;  his  face  looked 
quite  colourless  and  blank  in  the  light.  No,  as  far 
as  I  remember  he  had  rather  the  expression  you 
might  have  if  someone  came  into  your  bedroom  un- 
expectedly, and  turned  out  to  be  your  maid.  'Oh, 
it's  only  you.'  .  .  .  But  I  hadn't  time  to  notice  very 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      233 

much,  because  he  turned  off  the  light  again  at  once." 

"Without  saying  anything  ?" 

"ISTot  a  word.  Then  I  heard  him  getting  up,  and 
I  turned  round  and  ran  for  my  life." 

"Did  he  come  after  you  ?" 

"No.  That  rather  looked  as  if  he  was  as  anxious 
to  avoid  me  as  I  him,  don't  you  think?  Every 
moment  I  expected  to  feel  him  catch  hold  of  me. 
If  he  had,  I  should  just  have  died  on  the  spot. 
But  I  got  onto  the  path  again  and  some  way  down 
it  without  anything  happening,  and  then  I  listened 
again,  and  the  night  was  as  quiet  as  ever," 

"I'm  quite  sure  yon  imagined  all  that  part." 

"Truly  I  didn't.  If  you  knew  what  a  shock 
it  gave  me,  you  couldn't  suggest  that  it  was  my 
fancy.  ...  So,  when  I  was  sure  he  wasn't  follow- 
ing me,  I  ran  on  a  little  further,  and  then  the  path 
turned  to  the  left,  and  there  was  the  drive  and 
the  lodge-gate,  sure  enough.  ISText  minute,  I 
scrambled  over  the  gate — somebody  had  locked  it 
— and  was  on  the  high-road.  You  can't  imagine  how 
safe  and  homely  and  comfy  it  looked ;  though  I  was 
miles  from  anywhere,  I  knew,  and  probably  the 
ditches  were  full  of  burglars  and  people.  But  I 
never  thought  of  them;  and  it  didn't  even  occur 
to  me  that  he  would  follow  me  there,  and  take  me 
back,  although  I  can't  now  see  why  he  shouldn't 
have.  Oh,  and  I  was  so  tired  and  sore  and  lame  and 
sleepy  and  sick  and  out  of  breath,  and  my  heart 


234     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

thumped  so  abominably.  I  only  managed  to  struggle 
on  a  few  yards,  and  then  I  thought  I'd  sit  down  under 
the  hedge  and  rest  a  little.  You  see,  I'd  forgotten 
there'd  be  a  ditch,  and  I  fell  plump  into  it;  but 
luckily  it  was  a  dry  one,  and  I  struggled  up  against 
the  bank,  and  wrapped  my  cloak  round  me  as  well 
as  I  could,  although  I  was  quite  hot  then.  But  I 
knew  I  should  be  freezing  again  in  a  minute  or 
two.  .  .  .  And  then  I  don't  remember  any  more. 
Either  I  fainted,  or  I  dropped  straight  off  to  sleep. 
I  think  it  must  have  been  sleep." 

"I  never  heard  anything  like  it,"  Joyce  was  moved 
to  admit.  '^I  wonder  you  didn't  die;  and  yet  you 
seem  to  be  pretty  well  now,  barring  bruises." 

"I  am;  that's  the  extraordinary  part  of  it.  Of 
course,  I  feel  stiff  all  over,  and  my  head  and  hands 
hurt  a  good  deal,  and  one  of  my  legs  is  black  and 
blue  from  the  knee  to  the  waist  at  the  back.  But 
I'm  perfectly  well,  as  far  as  that  goes.  And  there's 
another  thing;  I  always  imagined  I  was  a  hopeless 
coward;  but  I  got  through  all  this,  and  didn't  faint 
at  the  wrong  time,  or  go  mad,  or  anything;  and 
somehow  it's  rather  exciting  to  look  back  on." 

There  was  a  note  of  justifiable  pride  in  her  voice 
as  she  referred  to  her  own  exploits  thus,  and  her 
companion  gave  her  a  word  of  temperate  admira- 
tion. 

"Yes,  you  were  rather  wonderful,  when  it  came 
to  the  worst.     But  how  on  earth  did  you  get  back 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      235 

here  and  into  that  dress,  with  your  hair  done  and 
your  nose  powdered,  by  tea-time?" 

"That  was  great  luck.  When  I  woke  up,  I  sup- 
pose it  must  have  been  somewhere  about  nine  or  ten 
o'clock.  The  sun  was  shining  (you  had  a  fog  here 
this  morning,  didn't  you?)  but  it  was  freezing  hard. 
For  a  little  bit,  I  simply  couldn't  move  a  finger.  It 
was  like  being  paralysed;  or  in  a  night-mare,  you 
Iknow,  when  you  see  a  mad  bull  coming  your  way. 
Then  I  managed  to  sit  up  and  rub  my  hands  to- 
gether, like  two  sticks ;  I  couldn't  bend  them  or  feel 
them  at  all,  and  they  made  a  noise  like  dead  leaves. 
But  by  and  by  I  could  use  them  a  tiny  bit,  and  I 
hauled  myself  out  of  the  ditch  and  stamped  my  feet 
on  the  road  until  they  came  alive  again,  hurting 
horribly.  I  was  shivering  all  over,  and  so  hungry 
that  I  thought  of  eating  twigs  off  the  hedge.  But 
that  was  the  worst  of  it;  I  wasn't  feeble,  or  ill,  or 
helpless.  Joyce,  can  you  understand  it?  .  .  . 
There  didn't  seem  to  be  a  soul  about,  and  of  course 
I  hadn't  an  idea  which  way  to  walk  to  get  to  Rye, 
or  anywhere  else.  One  thing  I  couldn't  do,  however, 
and  that  was  to  pass  the  lodge-gate.  I  couldn't 
even  bear  to  look  at  it,  and  see  how  near  it  I'd  gone 
to  sleep.  So  that  settled  my  direction,  and  I  hobbled 
off  as  fast  as  I  could,  trying  to  get  a  little  warmer; 
but  it  wasn't  very  fast;  and  in  about  ten  minutes 
I  saw  a  cottage,  the  other  side  of  a  meadow  on  my 
right,  not  far  off.     As  I  stopped  to  look  at  it,  a 


236      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

woman  came  out  of  the  door  to  throw  some  water 
out — it  steamed  like  anything  in  the  sunshine.  That 
was  the  only  sign  of  human  heings  in  sight,  except 
just  a  glimpse,  now  and  then,  of  his  house,  very 
white  and  glittery  on  the  hillside  on  my  left.  Every- 
where else,  when  I  looked  through  gaps  in  the  hedges, 
I  saw  only  empty  fields.  Well,  I  was  just  going  to 
climb  over  the  ditch  and  make  for  this  cottage,  when 
I  heard  a  car  coming  on  the  road,  a  pretty  long  way 
off,  and  I  thought  I'd  wait  for  that.  It  could 
hardly  be  one  of  his,  because  it  was  coming  fast  from 
the  direction  in  which  I  was  walking.  Of  course,  he 
might  have  been  out  in  it  to  look  for  me;  but  it 
struck  me  that,  if  he  was  on  a  search,  he'd  hardly 
be  scorching  along  at  that  rate.  Anyhow,  if  I  kept 
close  to  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  and  it  did  turn  out  to 
be  him,  I  should  have  time  to  get  half  way  across 
the  meadow  before  he  was  out  of  his  car.  He'd 
hardly  follow  me,  because  the  woman  of  the  cot- 
tage kept  coming  to  the  door,  and  calling  out  to 
someone  in  the  yard,  whom  I  couldn't  see;  and 
I  should  scream  at  the  top  of  my  lungs  as  I  ran. 
So  as  soon  as  the  car  came  in  sight,  I  got  into  the 
middle  of  the  road,  and  waved  my  scarf,  and  it 
slowed  down.  Then  I  got  back  to  the  gap,  and 
waited  for  it  to  come  up;  and  it  wasn't  one  of  his, 
but  a  great  big  limousine,  painted  dark  blue,  with  a 
man  in  it,  all  cosily  wrapped  up." 

"Now  I  understand,"  Joyce  commented. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT      237 

"You  wouldn't  say  that  if  you'd  seen  his  face, 
staring  at  me  through  the  glass;  and  the  chauffeur 
looked  almost  more  alarmed.  They  nearly  made 
me  laugh,  although  I  was  very  cold  and  hungry  and 
unhappy;  but  I  could  guess  what  I  looked  like — 
or  partly ;  I  didn't  realise  the  full  horror  of  my  ap- 
pearance until  I  got  back  here.  I  think  Mr.  Hib- 
berd  was  a  darling  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me; 
I  wouldn't  have  let  such  a  disgusting  object  into  my 
beautiful  new  car.  When  I  saw  myself  in  the  glass, 
two  or  three  hours  later,  I  blushed  all  over  to  think  of 
myself  sitting  beside  him  and  talking,  as  if  I  was 
a  decent  human  being.  My  hair  was  half  down, 
and  full  of  twigs  and  mould  and  dead  leaves;  my 
fur  coat  was  in  tatters,  and  so  were  my  stockings,  and 
lots  of  my  toes  were  sticking  through  them.  Por- 
tunately  I  could  hide  my  feet  under  the  rugs,  or 
I  should  think  the  poor  man  would  have  been  sick. 
And  my  face  was  absolutely  filthy,  and  covered 
with  scratches,  and  bruised,  as  you  see;  and  my  cut 
lip  had  bled  all  over  my  chin.  You'd  have  said 
I'd  been  drunk  and  fighting  in  the  gutter,  all  night ; 
but  Mr.  Hibberd  was  just  as  polite  and  friendly 
and  talkative  as  if  he'd  been  driving  a  smart  woman 
down  to  Eanelagh." 

"He'd  fallen  in  love  with  you  .  .  .  beauty  in 
distress,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  pronounced 
Joyce. 

"Joyce,  dear!  ...  I  don't  think  I  could  ever 


238     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

speak  to  him  again,  if  I  thought  he  had  such  a  dis- 
gusting taste.  Besides,  he's  over  sixty,  and  fat  and 
bald ;  and  has  a  son  who  was  a  brigadier,  and  several 
other  children.  Such  a  kind  old  thing!  He  has 
something  to  do  with  ships,  he  told  me ;  and  he  dashes 
up  and  down,  every  day  or  two,  between  London 
and  Winchelsea,  where  he  lives." 

"How  did  you  explain  the  state  you  were  in? 
Did  you  tell  him  about  Talbot  ?" 

"I  didn't  dare.  He'd  have  taken  me  for  an  es- 
caped lunatic,  like  the  woman  in  Wilkie  Collins, 
you  know.  In  fact,  I  was  afraid  he'd  do  that  any- 
how, until  it  occurred  to  me  that  people  in  asylums 
don't  dress  for  dinner — at  least,  they  don't,  do  they  ?" 

"We  didn't  at  the  last  one  I  was  in,"  Joyce  told 
her. 

"Anyhow,  Mr.  Hibberd  appeared  to  believe  any- 
thing I  chose  to  say,  and  was  full  of  sympathy.  As 
soon  as  he  saw  me,  he  got  out  of  the  car,  and  came  up 
and  asked  me  what  was  the  matter.  I  hadn't  pre- 
pared any  sort  of  explanation,  but  it  came  along  as 
I  talked,  partly  true  and  partly  not.  He  was  old 
enough  to  make  it  possible  to  hint  at  rather  a  nasty 
story,  which  was  the  only  kind  I  could  think  of." 

"What  a  mind !"  Joyce  exclaimed,  much  shocked. 
"Get  on!" 

"I  mean,  I  didn't  have  to  invent  much,  if  I 
made  it  a  nasty  story;  and  I'm  never  any  good  at 
inventing,  even  when  I'm  not  hungry  and  frozen 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     239 

and  miserable.  So  I  let  him  understand  that  some- 
body in  the  neighbourhood — a  man — had  asked  me 
down  for  the  week-end,  to  join  a  party,  and  that 
I  found  there  wasn't  a  party,  that  I  was  all  alone 
with  him;  and  that  he  made  love  to  me,  and  I  got 
frightened  and  escaped  out  of  the  window,  and  ran 
for  miles  and  miles  and  miles — I  made  it  lots  of  miles, 
to  put  him  off  the  scent;  and  that  I'd  fallen  down 
once  or  twice,  and  then  fainted  in  a  ditch.  You 
see,  Joyce,  it  was  fairly  true;  and  I  couldn't  have 
told  him  everything,  could  I?  He'd  probably  have 
got  frightened  of  me,  if  I  had,  and  driven  away, 
and  sent  a  policeman  back  to  look  after  me.  .  .  .  Oh, 
he  was  so  angry !  He  wanted  to  know  who  the  man 
was ;  said  he  ought  to  be  horse-whipped ;  he'd  horse- 
whip him,  himself,  if  nobody  else  would;  and  he'd 
make  his  name — well,  you  know;  that  disgusting 
thing  that  old  gentlemen  make  names  do,  when  they 
don't  like  them.  Of  course,  I  thanked  him  very 
much,  and  said  I  couldn't  bring  strangers  into  a 
thing  of  this  sort;  and  I  made  up  some  brothers, 
who  were  very  good  at  horse- whipping,  and  would 
like  doing  it;  and  then  he  was  nice  enough  to  drop 
the  subject.  He  hadn't  got  a  looking-glass  in  his 
car — I  think  he  had  almost  everything  else — and  I 
wasn't  inclined  to  get  out  and  let  anybody  see  me, 
if  I  could  help  it;  but  he  assured  me  I  looked  all 
right — Very  nice,'  he  said;  and  he  took  one  rather 
large  branch  out  of  my  hair  for  me,  but  left  all  the 


240     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

rest  in.  Perhaps  he  thought  they  were  meant  to 
be  there — a  sort  of  woodland  wreath — and  that  I 
should  be  cross  if  he  mentioned  them  as  if  they 
were  accidental." 

''Once,  at  a  dance,"  Joyce  put  in  reflectively,  "I 
had  a  large  smut  in  the  middle  of  my  forehead ;  and 
when  I  discovered  it,  and  asked  my  partner  why 
he  hadn't  told  me,  the  fool  said  he  thought  it  was 
a  beauty-spot.  .  .  .  Did  your  old  man  bring  you 
right  up  to  your  door?" 

"Yes.  Wasn't  it  sweet  of  him?  It  was  miles 
out  of  his  way.  Oh,  he  stopped  at  the  first  inn  we 
came  to,  after  he'd  found  me,  and  got  out  and  bought 
me  things  to  eat  and  drink ;  slices  of  bread  and  but- 
ter and  ham  and  beef,  and  some  brandy  and  water 
in  a  flat  bottle.  They  did  taste  good ;  I  don't  know 
when  I've  eaten  such  a  lot;  and  I  think  I  must 
•  have  drunk  a  little  too  much  brandy,  because  I  fell 
asleep,  while  I  was  smoking  a  cigarette  that  he  gave 
me,  and  didn't  wake  up  till  we  got  here,  about  one 
o'clock.  I  was  afraid  he'd  think  that  rather  rude, 
but  he  was  awfully  nice,  and  asked  me  to  go  and 
have  dinner  with  him  the  week  after  next,  when  he's 
coming  up,  with  two  of  his  daughters,  to  his  flat 
in  Cavendish  Square.     He's  a  widower." 

"Well,  you  might  do  worse,  my  girl.  We  none 
of  us  get  any  younger,"  her  friend  philosophized. 
"So  that's  the  end  of  the  story.      You  were  a  fool." 

"Why  ?"  asked  Shirley  penitently. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     241 

"To  go  to  that  beast's  house  at  all.  Didn't  I 
tell  you  he  was  up  to  something?" 

"I  know;  but  it  seemed  ridiculous.  He'd  al- 
ways been  so  kind  and  friendly.  Besides,  how 
could  I  possibly  guess  that  he  was  a  magician,  born 
hundreds  of  years  ago  ?  I  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing." 

"Really?  It's  fairly  common.  But  I  warned 
you  that  he  was  no  good ;  and  you  might  have  guessed 
he  was  the  sort  of  man  who'd  make  up  any  lies, 
or  behave  in  any  abominable  way,  to  get  what  he 
wanted." 

Shirley  fell  into  momentary  abstraction.  The  ex- 
citement of  recounting  her  adventures  had  left  her, 
and  her  bruised  face  was  sad. 

"You  think  he  made  it  all  up?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently, with  some  obvious  hesitation.  Joyce  gaped 
on  her  rustically,  with  round  eyes  and  a  dropping 
jaw. 

"Oh  no !  I  think,  of  course,  that  he  is  Old 
Mother  Shipton,  and  was  born  in  the  reign  of  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror,  and  runs  about  in  the  shape  of 
a  wolf  at  nights.  But  then  I've  got  such  a  trusting 
nature.     I  wasn't  sure  if  you  had." 

"Well,  but  look  here!"  argued  the  other,  who 
seemed  to  have  some  lingering  doubts  as  to  the 
mortality  of  Sir  Edward.  "How  do  you  account 
for  me  not  being  an  utter  wreck  after  what  I  went 
through  last  night?     I  was  frightened  out  of  my 


24.2     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

seven  senses,  and  I  fell  out  of  a  third-floor  window, 
and  was  frozen  stiff,  for  nine  hours  or  so,  in  a  ditch. 
Ordinarily,  if  I  walk  too  far,  or  sit  up  late  a  couple 
of  nights  running,  I'm  fit  for  nothing  next  day.  It 
must  have  been  that  stuff  he  gave  me  that  pulled 
me  through  it,  and  left  me  practically  all  right  at 
the  end." 

"I  didn't  say  it  wasn't;  in  fact,  I  should  think 
it  very  likely  was.  But  that  doesn't  prove  that  he 
made  it  out  of  something  that  he  found  in  Canter- 
bury Cathedral,  centuries  ago,  does  it  ?  Lots  of  these 
drug-things  buck  one  frightfully  for  a  time,  I  be- 
lieve; especially  if  one  isn't  accustomed  to  them. 
That  stuff  that  Tommy  Barclay  died  of — cocaine, 
wasn't  it?  She  used  to  take  it  to  cheer  herself  up. 
And  there  are  others,  too;  I  don't  remember  their 
names.  Probably  to-morrow  you'll  feel  like  a  stale 
banana.  It  hasn't  worked  off  yet;  that's  all;  and 
no  doubt  it  saved  your  life  last  night.  Drunk  people 
hardly  ever  come  to  any  harm.  You  were  drunk. 
You're  still  drunk." 

"I  don't  feel  drunk,"  Shirley  said  cautiously. 
"But  I  certainly  look  it,  so  perhaps  I  am.  And,  ac- 
cording to  you,  there's  no  more  in  it  than  that? 
But  then  why  on  earth  did  he  make  up  all  that 
rigmarole?  Is  he  mad?  Part  of  the  time  he  was 
talking  I  thought  he  was  mad,  and  that  frightened 
me  more  than  anything.     I'd  rather  meet  a  wizard 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     243 

than  a  madman,  any  day,  wouldn't  you?  You  can 
reason  with  a  wizard,  I  suppose." 

"I  talked  to  David  Devant  once,  when  I  went 
on  the  stage  to  help  him  with  a  trick,"  answered 
Joyce,  "and  he  seemed  most  reasonable.  Yes,  I 
dare  say  Edward's  a  bit  touched;  but  I'm  sure  he 
isn't  as  mad  as  all  that.  Very  likely  he  believes  in 
some  of  this  spiritualistic  bosh,  but  he  doesn't  fancy 
he's  Doctor  Dee,  any  more  than  I  do.  Only  he 
finds  that  he  can  get  a  certain  number  of  people  to 
swallow  anything  he  tells  them — ^you,  for  instance, 
and  dear  Basil  Jacinth  (ugh!)  and  Rita  and  Ga- 
thorne,  who  really  is  mad,  I'm  afraid,  or  rather  hope, 
considering  the  way  he  goes  on;  and  some  of  those 
people  you  heard,  up  to  some  revolting  beastliness 
in  the  chapel,  no  doubt ;  and  it  gives  him  a  position, 
and  makes  them  obedient.  Of  course,  a  good  many 
of  the  gang  must  know  it's  all  rot;  Magdalen — " 

"You  don't  think  she's  in  it  ?" 

"I'm  sure  she  is.  And  old  Lewis,  who  doesn't 
believe  anything,  even  when  it's  true.  But  they 
like  all  the  nasty  part  of  the  business,  so  they  back 
him  up  in  his  lies." 

"Well,  he  must  be  an  extraordinary  actor,"  mur- 
mured Shirley,  clearly  not  yet  convinced.  "If  you 
could  have  heard  him  tell  his  history — and  see  him ! 
Sometimes  he  really  seemed  to  forget  I  was  there, 
and   be  talking   for   his   own    pleasure;    absolutely 


244     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

bursting  with  conceit  and  a  kind  of  disgusting  de- 
light. ISTo,  I  can't  believe  he's  just  a  fraud,  as 
jou  say.     Either  he's  speaking  the  truth.  .  .  ." 

"Shirley !" 

""Well,  then  he's  raving,  and  can  play  at  being 
sane,  in  public.  Isn't  it  too  horrible?  Oh,  but 
Joyce !" 

"What?'' 

"His  ears!  That  magician  had  short  ears — they 
were  cut  you  know,  as  a  punishment;  so  had  the 
man  in  Holbom  that  the  police  were  after;  so  has 
he.  Isn't  that  rather  .  .  .  could  it  be  only  a  coin- 
cidence ?" 

The  fear  in  her  eyes  shewed  that  she  found  this 
evidence  of  identity  hard  to  surmount. 

"You've  only  got  his  own  statement  that  Dee's 
ears  were  cropped,"  Joyce  pointed  out.  "Very  likely 
no  such  man  ever  existed ;  I  never  heard  of  him. 
What's  much  more  probable  is  that  he  read  about 
the  Holborn  case,  and  saw  how  he  could  get  up  a 
belief  that  he  was  in  it,  and  hadn't  changed  for 
thirty  years.  He's  just  the  sort  of  person  to  have 
bits  of  himself  cut  off  to  help  him  to  act  a  part. 
Or  perhaps  the  fact  that  he  had  naturally  deformed 
ears  suggested  the  whole  idea  of  this  immortality 
business  to  him ;  if  he  hadn't  grown  any  older  during 
the  last  generation,  he  might  just  as  easily  go  back  a 
few  centuries.  That  seems  an  easier  explanation 
of  the  ear-touch  than  his  own,  to  my  mind." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     245 

"It  does,  doesn't  it?"  Shirley  said  eagerly.  "So 
it  was  all  just  a  ghastly  performance,  to  frighten  me. 
What  do  you  think  they  were  up  to,  when  I  .  .  .  ? 
What  do  you  think  he  meant  to  do  to  me  ?" 

Joyce  pouted  her  lips,  raised  her  eyebrows,  and 
shook  her  head  slowly. 

"I  can't  imagine.  But  I'm  sure  of  one  thing: 
it  was  worth  all  you  went  through,  to  get  out  of 
that  room  before  he  came  back." 

For  once  in  a  way  she  spoke  quite  seriously, 
and  Shirley,  turning  a  shade  paler,  looked  into 
the  fire  in  alarmed  silence. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
Joyce,  of  a  sudden. 

"Oh,  nothing." 

"I^othing?"  cried  her  friend,  startled  into  indig- 
nation. "Nothing?  You  mean  to  say  you're  just 
going  to  sit  tight  and  let  that  devil  go  on  with  his 
games,  just  because  you  yourself  managed  to  escape 
by  the  skin  of  your  teeth?" 

This  was  undoubtedly  what  Shirley  had  meant, 
for  she  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair,  and  her  colour 
returned  and  deepened. 

"I  don't  see  what  I  can  do.     I  can't  do  anything." 

"Eot!  You  know  you  can;  and  you  must,  too. 
Think  of  that  scream  you  heard — " 

"But  I  heard  a  lot  after.  It  might  only  have 
been  someone  in  hysterics." 

"Yes;  or  it  might  have  been  that  wretched  girl 


246     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

who  had  dinner  with  you,  whom  Edward  had  roped 
in  for  his  tortures,  just  because  people  like  you, 
in  the  past,  have  funked  giving  him  away." 

''But  she  knew  all  about  it.  She  wasn't  an  out- 
sider, like  me." 

"Who  told  you  that?  Truthful  Edward,  wasn't 
it  ?  Not  the  girl  herself,  any  way.  And  whether 
she  was  a  new  hand  or  not,  you  know  how  they  treat 
some  of  their — their  initiates,  or  whatever  the  idiot 
word  is.     There  was  that  woman  in  Holbom — " 

"Joyce !"  cried  Shirley,  going  white  again.  "You 
don't  think  they  murdered  her  ?" 

"I  don't.  If  I  did,  I'd  bo  off  to  the  police  station 
this  instant.  But  even  they  would  hardly  hegin  an 
evening's  amusement  by  murdering  somebody,  par- 
ticularly somebody  that  you'd  already  seen,  and 
would  miss.  Unless  of  course  they  were  going  to 
murder  you  too ;  and  I'm  sure  that  wasn't  Edward's 
idea." 

"Then  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"Inform  against  the  whole  beastly  crowd,  of  course, 
and  get  them  stuck  in  prison ;  Edward  and  Gathorne 
and  Madame — I  wish  you  could  remember  her  name, 
but  a  great,  fat  Jezebel  like  her  ought  to  be  trace- 
able. Oh,  and  the  servants — the  nigger — but  they'd 
be  sure  to  swear  they  hadn't  any  notion  of  what 
went  on  in  the  cellar.  I  bet  Magdalen  was  there. 
I  wish  we  could  get  her;  and  Bumpus  and  Lewis. 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     247 

Above  all,  Lewis;  ^scurvy,  filthy,  scurvy  old'  Lewis. 
But  Edward  and  Gathome,  anyhow;  and  that'll 
pay  off  my  score  as  well  as  yours." 

''We  don't  know  that  Mr.  Burrell  had  anything 
to  do  with  it." 

"'No;  he  may  have  been  doing  a  fresh  air  cure; 
otherwise  it  looks  as  if  he  was  taking  part  in  the 
game.  Or  can  you  think  of  any  other  reason  for 
him  being  there?" 

Shirley  shook  her  head. 

''Evidently  he  wasn't  sent  after  me,  anyhow;  and 
I'm  pretty  sure  Sir  Edward  didn't  know  where  he 
was.  A  man  can't  be  sent  to  prison  for  sitting  in  a 
bush;  and  I  shouldn't  imagine  it's  a  crime,  as  far 
as  that  goes,  to  say  you're  a  wizard  and  can't  die, 
unless  you  make  it  an  excuse  for  getting  money  out 
of  people.  You  see,  he  didn't  do  anything  to  me; 
or,  as  far  as  I  actually  know,  to  anyone  else." 

"He  did.  He  shut  you  in  a  room,  and  wouldn't 
let  you  out.  They  call  that  false  imprisonment,  and 
he  can  be  had  up  for  it ;  and  then  all  the  other  things 
are  sure  to  come  out  about  him.     Oh,  you  must!" 

"It  would  be  horrid,"  Shirley  complained  re- 
sentfully. "What  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  Go  and 
tell  a  policeman  about  it  ?  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  have 
the  patience  to  listen  to  such  nonsense." 

"Policeman!  Of  course  not.  You  go  to  a  so- 
licitor, and  he  brings  an  action,  or  files  a  petition, 


248      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

or  one  of  those  things.  If  you  haven't  one  of  your 
own,  you  can  use  ours.  You've  met  Mr.  Calhoun, 
haven't  you  ?" 

"The  man  who's  deaf  in  one  ear,  and  has  to 
turn  his  head  back  to  front  to  hear  you,  if  you're 
sitting  on  his  wrong  side  at  dinner?" 

"That's  him;  but  he's  gone  deaf  in  the  other  ear, 
too,  lately.  Mummy  says  that's  an  advantage  -for 
a  lawyer,  because  he  can  hear  both  sides  impartially. 
He's  not  a  bad  old  thing,  and  he  carries  a  telephone 
for  one  to  talk  into,  so  there's  no  difficulty.  Shall 
I  get  him  to  come  and  see  you  ?" 

The  face  of  the  other  girl  was  expressive  of  a 
mulish  recalcitrance. 

"I  should  feel  such  a  fool,"  she  pleaded.  "He — 
Sir  Edward,  I  mean — would  only  deny  everything 
I  said,  and  get  a  lot  of  the  people  who  were  down 
there  to  back  him  up;  and  the  judge  would  make 
stupid  jokes  about  timid  young  ladies  overrating 
their  charms,  and  all  the  jailers  and  lawyers  would 
laugh  at  me;  and  then  I  should  go  out  and  drown 
myself.  'No,  Joyce,  I  can't.  I'm  sorry,  but  I 
can't.  I'll  warn  everyone  I  know  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him ;  but  I  can't  do  more  than  that." 

"You  are  a  funk,"  Joyce  candidly  informed  her, 
without  any  animus.  "Never  mind,  poor  old  thing ! 
You've  had  a  mouldy  time,  and  I  don't  wonder  you're 
not  feeling  up  to  any  more,  at  present.  Leave  Ed- 
ward Talbot  to  me.     I  bet  I  can  make  things  un- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     249 

pleasant  for  him,  without  bringing  you  into  it, 
either." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  being  brought  into  it,  so  long 
as  I  don't  have  to  start  it.  I'm  not  really  a  funk; 
only  I  should  so  hate  to  be  the  joke  for  the  day  in 
the  Evening  News  and  the  Star.  ...  I  say,  you 
will  stay  to  supper,  won't  you  ?  I  told  Margaret 
you  would ;  and  you  can  ring  up  your  mother  from 
here.  Do!  I  don't  feel  like  spending  all  the  eve- 
ning  alone,  after  what  happened  last  night." 

"I  should  love  to,"  Joyce  replied,  rising  with  alac- 
rity and  passing  out  into  the  hall.  "I'll  get  through 
now,  before  Mummy  goes  up  to  dress.  .  .  .  Western, 
double  three,  four,  three,  double  two  .  .  .  no,  double 
thrrrree.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTEE  XI 

A  FEW  days  later  the  Cassilis  family  left  Lon- 
don to  spend  Christmas  at  Overbourne.  Shir- 
ley had  been  asked  to  make  one  of  the  party;  but 
as  she  was  only  taking  the  briefest  holiday,  and  had 
already  accepted  a  dinner  invitation  for  Christ- 
mas-day, she  was  obliged  to  refuse.  Of  Joyce,  dur- 
ing her  month's  rustication,  she  heard  nothing.  Miss 
Cassilis  having  long  solved  the  difficulty  of  keeping 
pace  with  her  numerous  correspondents  by  declining 
to  write  any  letters  at  all.  Sir  Edward  had  utterly 
vanished  out  of  Shirley's  world ;  although  she  still 
started  at  times  when  there  came  a  ring  at  the 
front  door  of  her  flat  after  nightfall.  On  such  oc- 
casions she  was  often  to  be  seen  stationed  in  the 
hall,  with  her  hand  on  the  telephone,  until  the  na- 
ture of  the  summons  was  explained;  so  that,  if  no 
actual  illness  resulted  from  her  experiences  at  New 
Place,  her  nerves  had  obviously  been  considerably 
shaken.  Little  by  little,  however,  in  the  common- 
place routine  of  her  life  she  recovered  her  normal 
demeanour,  while  the  expression  of  her  face  proved 
her  to  be  happier  than  she  had  been  for  some  years ; 
an  odd  but  undeniable  effect  of  her  association  with 
one  whom  she  now  had  good  cause  to  detest  and 

250 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     251 

dread.  ^N'or  did  she  meet  any  of  the  more  inti- 
mate friends  of  the  pretended  speculator,  some  of 
whom  were  likely  to  have  formed  a  part  of  the 
congregation  in  the  underground  chapel  in  Kent. 
Magdalen  Herbert,  for  instance,  who  had  at  one 
time  almost  pestered  her  with  affectionate  attentions, 
gave  no  sign  and  uttered  no  word;  not  that  she 
was  out  of  London,  for  she  had  been  reported  pres- 
ent at  a  recent  dinner  party  at  her  parents'  house 
in  Phillimore  Gardens.  Possibly  the  supposed  initi- 
ate was  afraid  to  meet  her  former  friend,  possibly 
she  was  disgusted  at  the  poor  spirit  that  the  novice 
had  shown.  Whatever  the  cause  of  the  estrange- 
ment, Shirley  was  heard  to  make  no  complaint  on 
the  subject. 

Early  in  February  a  card  arrived  by  post  from 
Palace  Green  indicating  that  Mrs.  Cassilis  had  re- 
sumed her  bi-weekly  "afternoons";  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday  Shirley  found  herself  seated  in  the 
room  in  which  she  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Sir  Edward  Talbot,  adding  her  unobtrusive  con- 
tribution to  the  general  clatter  of  feminine  tongues. 
There  were  ten  or  twelve  women  present,  but  Cap- 
tain William  Lovat  was  the  only  man  to  be  seen; 
and  his  heroism  was  soon  accounted  for  by  a  whis- 
pered communication  from  Joyce,  made  as  she 
handed  Shirley  a  plate  of  cakes. 

"Freeze  out  all  these  bores;  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  afterwards.     Billy  and  I  are  engaged,"  mur- 


252      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

mured  the  nymph  quickly;  and  retreated,  scarlet- 
cheeked,  to  the  corner  seat  where  her  sunburnt  shep- 
herd awaited  her. 

Of  the  rest  of  the  company  Shirley  had 
met  only  a  few  before:  Mrs.  Lampson,  in- 
calculably rich,  but  so  modestly  arrayed  that 
strangers,  seeing  her  pass  into  her  palace  in  Carl- 
ton House  Terrace,  were  prone  rashly  to  assume 
that  the  family  was  out  of  London,  and  that  the 
house  was  in  charge  of  a  caretaker;  Mrs.  Egerton, 
the  pretty  young  wife  whom  Joyce  had  suspected 
of  too  lax  an  interpretation  of  the  clauses  of  the 
marriage  contract;  and,  of  course,  Mrs.  Cassilis 
herself,  effusive,  handsome  and  elephantine.  Be- 
sides these  there  were  present  half  a  dozen  women 
of  an  approved  London  type,  gracefully  dressed, 
accipitral  of  nose  and  eye,  saurian  of  mouth,  thin, 
noisy,  and  more  or  less  convincingly  "made-up." 

Side  by  side  with  Mrs.  Egerton  on  a  sofa,  Shir- 
ley had  been  laughing  at  the  propositions  of  her 
neighbour,  who,  whatever  her  secret  history,  was  a 
lively  and  engaging  person,  when  her  attention  was 
distracted  by  the  entrance  of  Magdalen  Herbert,  in 
her  accustomed  condition  of  mysteriously  smiling 
langour.  The  new-comer  was  obliged  to  pass  Shir- 
ley on  her  way  to  her  hostess,  and  she  greeted  her 
carelessly,  with  a  good-humoured  and  sidelong  nod ; 
seating  herself  however,   after  the  greetings  were 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     253 

achieved,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  and  tak- 
ing no  further  notice  of  the  friend  for  whom  she 
had  so  lately  professed  the  warmest  feelings.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  snub;  for  her  immediate 
neighbours  treated  her  as  the  merest  acquaintance, 
and  there  was  an  empty  chair  at  Shirley's  very  el- 
bow; but  there  had  been  no  trace  of  displeasure  in 
her  recognition,  so  that  it  was  to  be  presumed  that 
her  neglect  was  only  due  to  the  death,  for  want  of 
proper  nourishment,  of  any  interest  which  she  had 
formerly  taken  in  the  dress-designer. 

"Magdalen,  you  can  tell  us,"  Mrs.  Cassilis  urged, 
when  the  disturbed  circle  had  settled  down  again, 
"what  in  the  world  has  happened  to  Sir  Edward 
Talbot?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea,"  drawled  the  girl,  taking  off 
her  right-hand  glove  with  deliberation.  "He  hasn't 
been  to  see  me  this  ten-age." 

"'Nor  any  of  us,"  her  hostess  told  her.  "He 
used  to  be  here  constantly,  and  we  haven't  heard  of 
him  now  for — oh!  six  or  seven  weeks,  at  least.  Of 
course,  we  were  away  for  Christmas,  but  I  wrote 
and  asked  him  down  to  Overboume,  and  never  had 
any  answer  at  all." 

"Where  did  you  write  to  ?"  asked  Billy  Lovat. 

"New  Place,  first;  that  beautiful  house  at  Eye, 
which  he  took  last  year,  you  know;  but  afterwards 
I  imagined  that  he  must  be  in  London,  and  that 


254     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

his  letters  hadn't  been  sent  on,  so  I  "wrote  to  his 
jflat.  When  I  still  heard  nothing,  I  tried  his  club 
— that  was  three  or  four  days  ago.  None  of  the 
letters  have  come  back  .  .  .  and  there  it  is!  Do 
you  think  he  can  be  out  of  England  ?" 

"P'raps,"  said  Magdalen,  without  interest. 

"He's  just  the  sort  of  man  that  does  start  off 
at  a  moment's  notice,  as  the  mood  takes  him,"  Mrs. 
Cassilis  loudly  ruminated.  "But  I'm  rather  sur- 
prised he  didn't  send  us  a  line  of  any  kind.  We 
were  quite  old  friends,  and  he  was  so  fond  of  Joyce. 
Wasn't  he,  darling?" 

"Mummy!  We  couldn't  stand  each  other,"  her 
daughter  protested. 

"Don't  be  silly!  When  he  stayed  with  us,  last 
summer,  he  devoted  his  whole  attention  to  you 
and  Shirley.  ...  Oh  yes!  Little  Shirley,  you've 
no  news  of  him,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  isn't  that  strange  ? 
Nor  has  Mr.  Lewis — nor  Eita — anyone.  If  he  was 
on  the  Riviera,  he'd  have  had  plenty  of  time,  by  now, 
to  have  got  my  first  letters  and  answered  them." 

"I  expect  he's  gone  back  to  America,  Adela," 
Mrs.  Lampson  suggested,  "and  you'll  hear  from  him 
presently." 

"That  must  be  it.  But  it  was  very  bad  of  him 
to  steal  away  like  that.  We  were  most  anxious 
to  find  him,  because  he  was  poor  Mr.  Burrell's 
best  friend.  He  had  such  an  influence  over  him 
that  we  thou.ght  he  might  have  done  him  good.     You 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     255 

heard  about  poor,  dear  Gathome  Burrell,  Magdalen, 
naturally  ?" 

"Oh  yes !  He's  off  his  head,  isn't  he  ?"  Magdalen 
asked,  eating  a  sandwich  with  an  air  of  detach- 
ment. 

"He's  dead,"  announced  Mrs.  Cassilis  in  a  shocked 
voice. 

"Is  he?  Poor  Gathome!"  murmured  the  girl 
perfunctorily.     "When  did  that  happen?" 

"Only  yesterday.  I  dare  say  it  was  a  blessing, 
for  they  tell  me  he  was  very  bad — not  likely  to  re- 
cover for  years,  even  if  he  ever  did.  It  doesn't 
really  seem  true;  it  doesn't  seem  possible.  The 
number  of  times  IVe  seen  him  coming  in  at  this 
very  door!"  she  reflected  in  an  astonished  tone,  as 
if  she  had  always  regarded  such  an  action  as  a  cer- 
tain prophylactic  against  insanity.  "Such  a  nice — 
such  a  handsome  fellow !  We'd  noticed  that  he  was 
getting  a  little  farouche  lately;  he'd  neglected  us 
a  good  deal ;  but  we  never  guessed !  How  dreadful 
life  is  sometimes,  isn't  it  ?" 

The  ladies  murmured  their  assent  to  this  appre- 
ciation of  human  affairs;  and  Mrs.  Egerton  sought 
further  particulars. 

"Too  horrible!  He  was  quite  young,  wasn't  he? 
What  did  he  die  off 

Mrs.  Cassilis  shut  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  don't  let's  tMnk  of  that!  Of 
course,  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing;  and  it 


256      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

was  scandalous  that  he  wasn't  better  watched.  Quite 
an  expensive  place,  too;  and  they  seemed  such  nice 
people,  so  Captain  Lovat  says.     Didn't  you?" 

"I  thought  they  were  all  right — kind  and  that, 
you  know,"  answered  the  soldier. 

"Captain  Lovat  took  endless  trouble  about  the 
poor  fellow.  In  fact,  nobody  else  lifted  a  hand  to 
help  him.  There  are  relations,  too — uncles,  and  so 
on.  Would  you  believe  it?  They  all  stood  aside, 
and  let  a  comparative  stranger  shoulder  all  the  trouble 
and  responsibility." 

'^Oh,  there  wasn't  very  much  one  could  do," 
'Billy  assured  her.  "And  Burrell  had  moments  of 
being  fairly  all  right;  and  then  he'd  be  quite  obedi- 
ent about  everything." 

"You  know  you  simply  slaved,"  she  insisted. 
'Tirst,  to  get  him  out  of  that  horrible  place  where 
the  police  took  him — he  was  found  wandering,  Caro- 
line; and  if  he  hadn't  happened  to  have  a  tailor's 
bill  in  his  pocket  they  wouldn't  have  known  who 
he  was.  Then  to  find  this  retreat  place,  and  get 
hold  of  his  family,  and  arrange  the  money  diffi- 
culty. You  should  have  let  us  help.  It  makes  me 
feel  so  guilty  to  remember,  that  I  did  nothing  at  all." 

"Really,  there  wasn't  work  enough  for  two," 
he  comforted  her,  "I  didn't  think  there  was  any  ob- 
ject in  bringing  in  more  people  than  were  absolutely 
necessary.  It  was  a  pretty  depressing  business ;  and 
I'm  glad  it's  over,  for  everyone's  sake." 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     257 

"Did  you  see  the  poor  thing  after  he — after  you'd 
put  him  under  proper  care?"  one  of  the  guests 
enquired. 

"Yes,  I  went  down  once  or  twice;  sometimes  he'd 
be  quiet,  and  sometimes  it  was  pretty  ghastly.  And 
yesterday  they  wired  for  me.  It  happened  in  the 
early  morning.  .  .  ." 

He  looked  distressed  as  he  broke  off,  and  his 
brown  face  paled  a  little.  The  spectacle  reduced 
the  company  to  an  uneasy  silence. 

"Do  let's  talk  of  something  else,"  Magdalen  pro- 
posed, with  undisturbed  composure.  "Gathome's 
out  of  his  troubles,  and  we  don't  all  want  to  get 
the  horrors.  Mrs.  Cassilis,  dare  I  ask  for  some 
more  tea  ?" 

If  the  interruption  was  expressed  a  little  heart- 
lessly, it  was  none  the  less  warmly  welcomed ;  and 
before  another  three  minutes  were  over  the  general 
attention  was  engrossed  by  a  recent  and  most  deplor- 
able scandal,  in  which  the  names  of  several  inti- 
mate friends  of  most  of  those  present  were  fascina- 
tingly involved. 

One  by  one,  the  guests  chattered  their  way  out 
of  the  room;  but  Shirley,  obedient  to  Joyce's  whis- 
pered order,  stood  her  ground,  and  presently  went 
to  join  the  newly  betrothed  on  their  sofa,  where 
she  conveyed  her  felicitations  in  a  discreet  under- 
tone, was  warmly  thanked  by  the  captain,  and  in- 
formed by  Joyce  that  the  subject,  from  the  point  of 


258     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

view  of  news,  was  now  closed,  and  to  be  considered 
hereafter  as  a  commonplace  and  accepted  fact,  un- 
worthy of  special  comment. 

"Mummy  knows  all  about  it,"  she  murmured,  with 
a  w^atchful  eye  on  her  unconscious  mother,  "and  says 
she  refuses  her  consent  now,  but  that  we  may  ask 
her  again  in  a  year's  time.  Of  course,  that's  just 
nonsense,  but  there's  no  object  in  arguing  about  it. 
Billy  and  I  thought  about  the  first  week  in  July.  .  .  . 
You'll  see  me  off,  won't  you  ?  I  think  I'll  get  Noel 
for  another;  two's  quite  enough.  ISTo  kids.  They 
always  cry  and  fight,  and  have  to  be  taken  out  in 
tears.  Besides,  what  have  kids  got  to  do  with  it, 
anyhow  ?  .  .  .  Now  let's  drop  it." 

The  party  had  been  by  this  time  reduced  to  the 
conspiratorial  three,  and  Mrs.  Lampson  and  her 
hostess.  Magdalen  had  left  without  a  word  either 
to  Joyce  or  Shirley,  to  both  of  whom  she  had  merely 
smiled  her  farewell  from  a  distance.  The  two  elderly 
ladies  were  deep  in  a  conversation  that  soon  grew 
so  confidential  as  to  call  for  a  greater  privacy ;  when 
Mrs.  Cassilis,  after  excusing  herself  to  Shirley,  and 
smiling  with  a  significant  indulgence  on  her  daughter 
and  Billy,  removed  her  friend  to  a  neighbouring 
writing-room.  Left  alone  with  the  forbidden  lovers, 
Shirley  displayed  some  disposition  to  return  to  the 
subject  of  their  espousals  but  was  checked  at  the 
outset. 

"We  particularly  wanted   you  to  wait   till  the 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     259 

others  had  gone,"  Joyce  firmly  interrupted  her,  "be- 
cause Billy's  got  something  to  tell  you  that  you'll 
be  interested  in.  I  let  him  know  what  you  told  me 
about  Edward  Talbot — you  don't  mind,  do  you? 
and  we  made  all  sorts  of  plans  for  bowling  him 
out,  before  he  could  do  any  more  harm.  Billy 
never  liked  him — did  you? — thought  he  looked  a 
wrong  'un;  so  he  rather  jumped  at  the  chance.  The 
idea  was  that  he  should  run  down  to  Eye  in  his 
car,  and  see  how  the  land  lay  first — who  was  at 
the  house,  whether  the  neighbours  knew  anything 
about  what  was  going  on,  and  so  on ;  and  then  de- 
cide what  was  the  next  best  thing  to  do.  However, 
before  he  had  a  chance  of  starting,  the  whole  affair 
straightened  out  of  its  own  accord.  Only  a  few 
days — three  or  four — after  you'd  been  there,  some 
sort  of  a  tradesman — who  was  it  ?" 

"My  tailor,  Marshall,"  Billy  continued.  "The 
police  had  come  to  him  to  make  enquiries  about 
Burrell,  and  he  referred  them  to  me  as  the  only 
friend  of  his  that  he  knew  of.  It  was  Burrell 
who'd  recommended  Marshall  to  me,  about  the  middle 
of  last  year.  Well,  the  police  told  me  that  for  some 
days  there'd  been  stories  of  people  being  frightened, 
in  the  Eye  neighbourhood,  by  the  sight  of  a  fellow 
wandering  about  the  lanes  and  fields,  obviously  not 
all  there.  He  doesn't  seem  to  have  done  any  actual 
harm;  in  fact,  one  of  the  things  they  objected  to 
was  that  he  always  ran  away,  full  speed,  when  he 


260      THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

met  anyone;  jumping  hedges,  scrambling  through 
ponds — any  old  way.  But  his  appearance  put  them 
off,  and,  poor  chap,  he  must  have  looked  pretty  aw- 
ful, from  all  accounts;  clothes  hanging  in  rags  and 
simply  plastered  with  mud,  hair  on  end,  all  torn 
and  covered  with  blood,  white  face,  glaring  eyes — 
not  at  all  the  sort  of  thing  to  meet  in  the  dusk,  if 
you  were  alone.  Once  a  farm-girl  went  into  an 
outhouse  in  the  early  morning  to  get  a  pail  or  some- 
thing. It  was  pretty  dark,  and  there  was  a  great 
heap  of  straw  or  hay  in  the  corner,  and  as  she  looked 
at  this,  she  saw  a  pair  of  eyes  watching  her.  She 
got  back  to  the  door  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry — she  knew 
they  were  a  man's  eyes,  she  said — and  let  out  one 
yell;  and  the  next  moment  he'd  burst  out  on  her 
in  a  flash,  squirmed  under  her  arm  and  round  her, 
and  was  away,  running  like  blazes  across  the  fields. 
Another  time,  a  party  of  kids  were  coming  home 
from  school  in  the  late  afternoon,  when  he  stalked 
out  of  a  coppice,  crossed  the  road,  with  his  face 
turned  towards  them  and  staring  down  at  them, 
slithered  on  his  stomach  under  the  hedge,  made  a 
funny  noise — like  a  hare,  one  of  them  told  the 
police — and  took  to  his  heels.  They  could  see  him 
going  for  some  time,  flying  over  everything  that 
came  in  his  way,  his  arms  flapping  like  wings, 
and  looking  back  every  two  or  three  seconds  over 
his  shoulder.  Then  a  parson  walked  right  into 
him  at  the  comer  of  a  lane  one  night.     The  padre 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     261 

bad  been  out  to  dinner,  and  was  on  bis  way  borne. 
Burrell  jumped  back  as  if  be'd  trod  on  a  snake, 
and  looked  at  tbe  old  boy  in  a  way  wbicb  be  didn't 
like  a  little  bit.  He  was  pretty  scared,  but  be  man- 
aged to  ask  wbat  was  wrong;  you  see,  Burrell 
looked  very  mucb  as  if  be'd  been  pitcbed  out  of 
a  car  tbrough  a  tbom-bedge  into  a  clay-pit.  'It's 
you  again,  is  it?'  said  Burrell,  cursing  tbe  parson 
in  tbe  most  sulpburic  way — not  tbat  be'd  ever  met 
bim  in  all  bis  life;  and  tben  be  bolted  down  the 
road,  tbe  way  be  came.  Tbe  parson  told  tbe  police, 
and  tbey  beat  tbe  neigbbourbood  next  day,  and  at 
last  walked  bim  up  out  of  a  wbin,  somewbere  in 
tbe  Lydd  direction.  He  put  up  a  great  figbt,  but 
tbey  got  bim  trussed  up  finally,  and  oif  to  tbe  nearest 
police-station.  By  tbis  time,  of  course,  tbey  realised 
wbat  was  tbe  matter  witb  bim,  for  be  sbouted  at 
tbe  top  of  bis  lungs,  about  murders  and  goodness 
knows  wbat  all,  wbile  tbey  were  getting  bim  along. 
Evidently  be  badn't  eaten  for  days,  and  even  tbe 
bobbies  admitted  tbat  tbey  were  frightened  to  look 
at  bim." 

"Billy  tells  a  story  jolly  well,  I  think,"  Joyce 
put  in,  witb  approbation;  but  Shirley  only  nodded 
palely. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Cassilis  told  you  wbat  happened  tben. 
He  bad  money  in  the  bank,  and  we  got  him  into 
a  decent  sort  of  ^approved'  house  at  Littlestone,  in- 
stead of  the  asylum.     The  doctor  in  charge  took  in 


262     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

a  couple  of  other  patients,  and  struck  me  as  a  sen- 
sible fellow;  but  evidently  be  was  a  bit  slack,  for 
yesterday  morning  be  left  Burrell  alone  in  bis  room 
for  a  minute  or  two;  and  be  immediately  broke — 
well,  be  finished  bimself  off,  tbank  God!  I  don't 
believe  be'd  ever  bave  got  well ;  and  be  was  only 
about  twenty-seven,  and  might  bave  lived  another 
fifty  years." 

"I  hated  him  a  good  deal  lately,"  reflected  Joyce. 
"You  know  he  was  rude  and  beastly  at  times ;  wasn't 
be,  Shirley?  But  if  he  was  mad,  it  wasn't  his 
fault.  It  was  a  rotten  way  to  finish  off,  and  he 
used  to  be  nice." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Shirley,  "be  was  mad,  last 
time  I  saw  him.  Joyce  told  you  about  that,  didn't 
she  ?" 

"I  expect  he  was,  more  or  less,"  Billy  agreed,  "but 
he  may  only  have  been  on  the  verge  of  it  then, 
and  broken  down  altogether  an  hour  or  two  later. 
Because  that's  not  all  about  him.  While  he  was 
in  this  'home,"  he  told  Mr,  Lilly  a  most  extraor- 
dinary story,  which  Lilly  passed  on  to  me  yesterday. 
Joyce  has  heard  it  already.  No  doubt  it  was 
all  a  delusion,  Lilly  said,  although  be  appeared 
to  be  rational  enough  while  be  was  telling 
it.  ...  I  wonder!  .  .  .  Talbot  has  certainly  dis- 
appeared." 

"What  ?"  cried  Shirley,  with  dilated  eyes. 

"It  came  to  this.     Lilly  didn't  profess  to  remem- 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     263 

ber  all  of  it,  or  exactly  how  Burrell  put  it.     Tal- 
bot, so  he  said,  had  spoilt  his  life  for  him,  since 
they  became  friends,  a  year  or  two  ago — how,  Lilly 
didn't  know;  but  he  rambled  on  about  disgracing 
him,  and  ruining  his  health,  and  parting  him  from 
some  girl  he  was  in  love  with.     Apparently  there 
was  no  doubt  he  had  the  drug  habit  very  badly, 
and  he  looked  as  if  he  drank  too,  and  his  nerves  were 
all  to  rags.     In  some  ways,  Lilly  said,  he  was  like 
an  old,  worn-out  man.     It  wasn't  the  result  of  his 
going  mad ;  there  was  what  Lilly  called  'physical 
degeneration,  as  one  finds  in  senile  decay.'     Those 
were  his  actual  words ;  I  remember  them  quite  well. 
And  yet,  you  know,  he  didn't  looh  any  older  than 
he  was,  did  he?     Burrell  said  that  he'd  been  per- 
fectly well  and  happy  before  he  met  Talbot,  and  that 
he'd  had  lots  of  friends ;  but  that  he'd  lost  everything 
since  by  allowing  himself  to  be  badly  influenced. 
Very  likely  he  was  speaking  the  truth  there.     We 
know  now,   after  what  you've  been  through,  Miss 
Cresswell,  that  Talbot  was — or  is — a  poisonous  sort 
of  fellow;  and  he  and  Burrell  were  very  thick  for 
some  time.     Finally,  it  seems,  they  had  a  regular 
bust-up,  and  separated ;  and  from  that  moment  Bur- 
rel  was  determined  to  get  his  own  back  somehow.     I 
think  he  gave  Lilly  to  understand  that  the  loss  of 
this  girl  of  his,  whoever  she  was,  was  the  last  touch, 
and  that  soon  after  that  he  began  to  make  plans 
for  his  revenge.     He  tried  to  do  Talbot  harm,  first 


264     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

of  all,  in  all  sorts  of  milder  ways — ^by  giving  him 
away  to  his  respectable  friends,  and  so  on;  but  no- 
body would  listen  to  him — naturally,  because  Talbot 
always  looked  quite  sane  and  pleasant  and  clean,  and 
made  himself  agreeable  to  everybody ;  whereas  Bur- 
rell  had  already  been  bowled  out  (so  he  said ;  I  never 
heard  of  it)  in  one  or  two  nasty  affairs,  and  was 
getting  wilder  and  dirtier  and  druggier  every  day. 
Finding  this  was  no  good,  he  quite  calmly  decided 
to  kill  him,  while  he  was  able  to  do  it ;  for  he  didn't 
think  that  he  himself  would  last  much  longer.  Well, 
the  country  seemed  a  more  suitable  spot  for  a  mur- 
der than  London,  so  he  took  to  haunting  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  house  at  Rye,  whenever  Talbot  was 
down  there.  He  wasn't  going  to  risk  failure,  and 
a  good  opportunity  was  sure  to  turn  up  presently  he 
thought.  Talbot  would  walk  out  into  the  garden 
at  night,  or  into  the  woods  in  the  daytime,  and  he 
could  be  caught  alone,  out  of  hearing  of  his  serv- 
ants, and  finished  off,  and  buried." 

"So  that  was  what  he  was  waiting  for!"  mur- 
mured Shirley,  in  a  breathless  undertone. 

"That  was  it.  He'd  been  there  several  other 
nights;  but  the  house  was  always  shut  up,  as  soon 
as  it  began  to  get  dark,  and  Talbot  never  seemed 
to  go  out  except  in  a  closed  car,  driven  by  a  chauf- 
feur. As  soon  as  he  saw  you,  however,  he  saw  a 
chance  of  pulling  it  off.  He  didn't  tell  Lilly  who 
you  were;  all  he  said  was  that  he  came  across  a 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     265 

girl — a  girl  he  knew  to  be  decent — running  away 
from  the  house  at  midnight  evidently  terrified  out 
of  her  life,  and  apparently  just  fresh  from  a  struggle 
with  somebody.  He  was  pretty  sure  that  Talbot 
would  never  let  her  get  away  and  tell  her  story, 
without  trying  all  he  knew  to  catch  her  and  stop 
her  mouth  somehow — he  wouldn't  have  thought  twice 
about  killing  you,  Burrell  declared,  if  he'd  thought 
it  necessary;  so  the  moment  he  heard  you  get  back 
through  the  bush  and  begin  to  run  down  hill  to- 
wards the  gate,  he  went  straight  up  to  the  house, 
turned  on  an  electric  torch  that  he'd  brought  with 
him,  and  rang  at  the  front  door.  It  was  opened  to 
him  at  once  by  'the  black  devil  who  helped  him  in 
his  work/  he  said.  Lilly  took  this  to  be  mere  rav- 
ing, but  I  suppose  he  meant  that  nigger  woman  who 
waited  on  you.  And  the  next  moment  Talbot  him- 
self appeared  white  and  raging.  He  forgot  all  about 
his  quarrel  with  Burrell,  which  I  dare  say  he'd  never 
taken  very  seriously — " 

"I'm  sure  he  hadn't,  from  what  he  said  to  me," 
put  in  Shirley. 

"And  he  didn't  trouble  to  keep  up  his  usual 
behaviour — that  god-like  calm  you  know.  All  he 
was  concerned  about  was  to  get  you  back  in  the 
house  before  you  gave  the  show  away;  and  Burrell 
played  up  to  him  like  anything.  He  pretended  that 
he'd  tried  to  get  down  earlier  in  the  evening — for 
the  service  or  ceremony,  or  whatever  it's  called,  I 


266     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

suppose,  though  he  didn't  mention  that  to  Lilly. 
Apparently  he  had  a  sort  of  general  invitation  to 
attend  these  games.  He  told  Talbot  that  he'd  fallen 
asleep  in  the  train,  and  been  carried  past  his  sta- 
tion; and  when  he  got  back  to  it  by  the  next  train, 
there  was  no  trap  or  cab  to  take  him  up  to  the 
house,  so  that  he  had  to  walk.  Soon  after  he  got 
through  the  lodge-gate,  he  met  you  walking  fast 
downhill.  You  wouldn't  stop,  or  say  a  word,  but 
tore  across  the  road,  got  into  the  fields  on  the  other 
side,  and  went  on  towards  the  sea-shore.  He  hardly 
liked  to  stop  you,  as  you  appeared  to  be  in  your 
right  mind;  but,  for  all  that,  he  was  afraid  some- 
thing must  be  wrong,  or  you  wouldn't  be  walking 
about  in  the  country  at  this  time  of  night.  So  he 
thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  hurry  to  the 
house  and  ask  Talbot's  advice.  There'd  be  no  great 
difficulty  in  catching  you  before  you  reached  the 
sea,  as  you  were  hobbling  and  fairly  out  of  breath 
when  he  met  you.  He  didn't  think  you  meant  to 
drown  yourself,  because  you  seemed  to  be  heading 
straight  for  a  little  line  of  cottages,  whose  lights 
were  the  only  ones  to  be  seen  from  the  lodge-gate. 
Talbot  hardly  answered.  He  was  dressed  in  a  sort 
of  dressing  gown  and  slippers,  but  he  grabbed  Bur- 
rell  and  dragged  him  away  down  the  drive,  then  and 
there.  'Turn  out  that  light  of  yours  till  it's  wanted, 
Gathorne,'  he  said,  Vhich  way  did  the  fool  go?' 
'So,'  Burrell  told  Lilly,  laughing  like  anything,  'I 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     267 

steered  him  off  to  the  waste  ground  that  lay  between 
the  fields  and  the  sea.'  " 

Carried  away  by  the  dramatic  nature  of  his  tale, 
Billy  was  beginning  to  supply  his  characters  with 
a  suitable  dialogue ;  and  Joyce  regarded  his  earnest, 
sunburnt  face  with  manifest  pride. 

"Once  or  twice,"  the  young  man  went  on,  "Bur- 
rell  would  sing  out  'Was  that  her?'  or  something 
like  that;  and  he  kept  edging  Talbot  away  from 
the  cottages  and  down  on  to  the  foreshore.  Pres- 
ently the  two  found  themselves  in  a  little  sand- 
hollow,  with  nothing  whatever  in  sight,  and  the 
sound  of  the  waves  tumbling  close  by.  'And  then,' 
said  Burrell,  'I  pulled  him  up,  and  told  him  why 
I'd  brought  him  there.  I  didn't  look  at  him  while 
I  did  that,  because  the  devil's  eyes  always  fright- 
ened me.  I  knew  they  were  on  me  now.  He  wasn't 
a  bit  rattled.  All  he  said  was  that  I'd  be  sorry 
later  on,  to  have  played  the  fool  with  him  in  this 
way.  You  see,  I  really  believe  he'd  forgotten  that 
a  bullet  or  a  knock  on  the  head  could  finish  him  off 
as  easily  as  any  other  man.  He  knew  it  was  so, 
of  course,  but  he  hadn't  thought  of  such  a  thing 
for  so  long.  ...  I  hated  his  calmness.  I  was  sure 
that  in  another  second  or  two  he'd  have  me  beaten, 
if  I  didn't  do  something  at  once.  But  fortunately 
he  made  a  mistake;  he  turned  and  began  to  stroll 
away;  and  that  moment  I  tucked  my  head  down 
and  went  for  him.     He  shot  round  like  lightning 


268     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  caught  me  a  crack  on  the  jaw  that  nearly  broke 
my  neck;  but  I  closed,  and  stuck  the  whole  nine 
inches  of  it  into  his  left  side,  just  above  the  hip, 
and  down  he  went,  bellowing  like  a  bull.  I  couldn't 
get  the  damned  thing  out,  but  I  felt  a  big  stone 
under  my  knee,  and  I  got  it  in  both  hands  and 
smashed  up  his  skull  with  it,  just  as  we  used  to 
smash  up  butterscotch  on  the  desk  at  school/  " 

"Don't  rub  it  in  too  much,  Billy,"  Joyce  warned 
him.     "Shirley  doesn't  like  it." 

"I'm  sorry,"  apologised  Billy,  who  was  now  openly 
enjoying  himself.  "But  really  that  was  very  much 
what  Burrell  said.  Lilly  seemed  to  remember  that 
part  almost  word  for  word.  Oh  yes !  and  he  said 
there  was  one  odd  detail  that  puzzled  him  a  little. 
Burrell  kept  calling  this  fellow  'Kelley.'  .  .  ." 

"That  was  the  name,  of  course!"  exclaimed  Shir- 
ley. 

"Kelley  and  Talbot,  indifferently;  and  mixing  up 
all  kinds  of  remarks  about  living  for  ever,  and 
evil  spirits,  and  goodness  knows  what.  Naturally 
this  inclined  Lilly  to  believe  that  the  whole  story 
was  just  nonsense — delirium — a  hash-up  of  things 
that  Burrell  had  read  in  books ;  but  he  thought  that 
he'd  better  mention  it  to  the  police,  all  the  same,  in 
case  there  was  anything  in  it.  Well,  they  knew  of 
Talbot,  as  a  rich  man  who  had  a  good  many  visitors ; 
and  they  pointed  out  that  if  he'd  really  disappeared 
suddenly  and  mysteriously,  some  of  these  friends,  or 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     269 

his  servants,  would  have  made  enquiries  about  him 
long  before  this.  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that  it 
wasn't  until  he  had  been  three  weeks  with  Mr.  Lilly 
that  Burrell  told  this  yarn.  However,  as  a  matter 
of  form,  they  sent  a  man  up  to  ISTew  Place,  who 
found  it  locked-up  and  apparently  empty.  Then 
they  really  got  to  work  to  trace  Talbot;  and  they 
found  he'd  left  no  address  for  letters  at  the  post 
office,  nor  had  he  paid  the  tradesmen's  books.  His 
London  flat  was  shut  up,  and  his  club  knew  nothing 
about  him,  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends,  whom 
they  got  onto,  had  nothing  to  suggest.  All  they 
found  out  was  that  some  of  the  villagers  had  seen 
three  cars,  which  they  recognised  as  Sir  Edward's, 
dashing  about  the  country,  at  high  speed,  on  that 
Sunday  afternoon  and  evening;  but  what  happened 
to  them  after  that  couldn't  be  traced.  They  seemed 
^o  vanish  off  the  earth.  Possibly  they  may  have 
had  their  number-plates  taken  off,  and  been  sold 
to  someone  who  wasn't  too  particular.  The  serv- 
ants too,  whom  the  tradesmen  knew  by  sight,  had 
covered  their  tracks.  You'd  have  imagined  that  the 
black  girl  would  have  been  pretty  easy  to  follow; 
but  they  never  saw  a  hair  of  her;  and  as  for  the 
visitors,  there  was  nothing  to  show  who  they  were, 
or  what  became  of  them.  Well,  then  they  broke 
into  New  Place.  All  the  furniture  was  there,  not 
even  covered  with  dust-sheets,  the  linen  and  plate 
were  in  the  cupboards,  and  they  found  lots  of  stores 


270     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  food  in  the  larder  and  other  places,  some  of  it 
rotten.  It  seemed  quite  clear  that  the  house  had 
been  deserted  at  a  moment's  notice,  and,  if  Talbot 
had  lived  there  alone,  this  would  have  supported 
Burrell's  story.  But  one  couldn't  think  of  any  rea- 
son for  the  silence  of  the  guests  and  servants,  or  why 
they  should  clear  out  in  this  peculiar  way.  The 
whole  business  looked  so  fishy  that  it  was  decided 
to  make  a  search  of  the  beach,  for  any  evidence  of 
a  murder.  There  were  a  good  many  sand-hollows, 
and  some  of  these  were  on  the  foreshore,  and  so 
covered  at  high-tide.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Burrell 
never  told  Lilly  what  he  did  with  the  body,  or 
whether  he  did  anything  with  it ;  when  he  got  to  that 
point,  he  went  quite  off  his  head  again  with  excite- 
ment, and  talked  the  maddest  rubbish.  ISTothing 
was  found  to  show  that  his  confession  was  anything 
more  than  a  bad  dream ;  but  supposing  that  the  place 
had  been  washed  every  day  by  the  tides,  there  would 
be  no  traces  left,  probably,  and  the  body  might  very 
well  have  been  carried  out  to  sea.  Where  they  found 
a  hole  that  answered  the  description  above  high-wa- 
ter-mark, they  dug  up  the  sand,  to  see  if  by  any 
chance  he'd  buried  Talbot,  but  they  had  no  luck.  .  .  . 
He's  just  gone.  Either  he's  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
or  underground  in  some  place  they  haven't  spotted 
yet ;  or  else  he  was  badly  frightened  by  you  escaping, 
with  that  beastly  story  against  him,  and  thought  it 
wiser  to  clear  out  until  the  thing  blew  over.     Or,  if 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     271 

he  found  you  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  about  it, 
he  could  have  come  back  again,  before  long,  with 
his  latchkey,  and  taken  possession  of  his  house  again ; 
saying  he'd  been  abroad  in  the  meanwhile.  That 
seems  far  the  most  likely  explanation,  after  all,  don't 
you  think  so?" 

"Why  ?"  asked  Joyce.  "I  should  say  that  Ga- 
thorne  was  telling  the  truth.  Probably  he  chucked 
the  body  in  the  sea.  Then  all  these  beauties  at  the 
house,  finding  Edward  didn't  come  back,  would  imag- 
ine he'd  got  into  trouble;  and,  as  they  didn't  want 
to  be  let  in  as  well,  they  scattered  and  lost  them- 
selves." 

"But  at  once?"  Billy  objected.  "You  see,  Joyce, 
from  what  the  villagers  said  about  the  cars,  it  looks 
as  if  the  whole  gang  was  out  of  the  place  before  Sun- 
day night.  Surely  they'd  have  waited  at  least  a  full 
day  before  deciding  that  he  didn't  mean  to  come 
back  ?" 

"They  mightn't.  One  doesn't  know  all  they'd  been 
up  to  in  that  cellar.  ...  Oh  yes!  Tell  Shirley 
about  that !" 

"What  was  that  ?"  asked  Shirley. 

"I  was  forgetting,"  Billy  said.  "Yesterday,  when 
I'd  left  Lilly,  I  thought  I'd  like  to  have  a  look  at 
!N"ew  Place,  and  see  how  it  answered  to  your  descrip- 
tion of  it  to  Joyce.  I  don't  mean  that  I  thought  you 
were  romancing  about  it,  of  course;  but  I  wondered 
if  things  had  been  left  as  you  saw  them  in  the  chapel, 


272     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

and  whether  it  would  be  possible  to  get  any  clue  to 
Talbot's  whereabouts  from  anything  he'd  left  behind 
down  there.  So  I  got  leave  of  the  police  to  go  over 
the  house.  A  bobby  went  with  me.  .  .  .  Every- 
thing was  just  as  they  had  said.  Beds,  some  made, 
others  that  had  been  slept  in ;  the  table  you  dined  at, 
still  half  laid;  books  and  papers  lying  about;  dead 
flowers  in  vases — nothing  out  of  the  way  or  suspi- 
cious ;  an  ordinary,  well  furnished  house,  from  which 
everybody  had  fled  suddenly — the  sort  of  thing  one 
used  to  see  in  France.  The  organ  was  still  open  in 
Talbot's  study,  and  I  went  down  the  steps,  through 
the  cellar,  and  up  the  winding  staircase,  at  the  other 
end,  which  led  to  the  room  which  you  jumped  out  of 
the  window  of.  The  table  and  the  two  chairs  were 
still  there ;  so  were  the  bottle  and  the  glass,  both  of 
them  empty  and  dry,  but  the  books  had  been  taken 
away.  In  the  chapel  itself  nothing  had  been  left  but 
the  bell — I  suppose  that  was  too  heavy  to  move — and 
the  benches,  pushed  against  the  wall.  I  saw  the 
niches ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  them,  nor  in  the 
cupboard  in  the  wall.  The  banners  you  talked  about 
had  been  taken  dovm,  and  so  had  the  two  big  curtains. 
But  there  was  a  heap  of  curtains  in  an  attic  upstairs, 
and  I  think  I  spotted  the  throne  in  the  drawing  room ; 
one  of  a  pair  of  huge  chairs.  Evidently  the  chapel 
was  the  one  place  they'd  taken  the  trouble  to  clear 
up,  before  they  bolted. '^ 


THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT     273 

"That  looks  as  if  they  knew  Talbot  wasn't  coming 
back  again/'  Joyce  suggested. 

"Do  you  think  so  ?  He  might  very  well  have  been 
afraid  of  the  house  being  searched,  and  some  of  his 
secrets  being  found  out,  while  he  was  away,"  replied 
Billy,  "particularly  if  it  wasn't  safe  for  him  to  re- 
appear for  a  long  time." 

"No;  I  believe  he's  dead,"  Joyce  persisted,  "and 
I'm  sure  I  hope  so." 

"He'd  be  no  great  loss,  by  all  accounts,"  Billy 
agreed.  "Though,  as  far  as  we're  concerned,  I  don't 
know  that  it  matters.  If  he  does  bob  up  again,  he's 
likely  to  keep  clear  of  our  set,  and  look  for  his  dis- 
ciples somewhere  else." 

"Still,  I  should  like  to  think  of  him  as  dead,  after 
the  harm  he's  done,"  said  Joyce.  "What's  your 
opinion  about  it,  Shirley?  You  look  very  medita- 
tive." 

The  other  girl  started. 

"Oh,  I  expect  he  was  killed.  He  wasn't  the  sort 
of  man  to  run  away,  unless  there  was  something  very 
bad  to  face — like  that  dead  girl  in  Holborn,  He 
could  easily  have  explained  my  story  away,  and  made 
me  look  a  fool.  Yes;  I  believe  Mr.  Burrell  killed 
him." 

"Two  to  one,  Billy,"  Joyce  proclaimed.  "My  only 
regret  is  that  Gathome  didn't  slaughter  all  the  rest 
of  the  crowd,  while  he  was  about  it ;  particularly  dear 


274     THE  CASE  OF  SIR  EDWARD  TALBOT 

Mr.  Lewis,  who's  long  been  ripe  for  the  dust-bin. 
But  it'll  probably  break  up,  now  that  it  hasn't  got 
the  great  man  to  slobber  over.  At  all  events,  he  can't 
do  any  more  mischief,  and  you  were  lucky  enough  to 
escape  with  nothing  worse  than  a  fright,  Shirley." 

Shirley  hesitated  for  some  seconds,  and  then 
spoke,  laughing  a  little,  but  not  entirely  naturally, 
and  with  an  obvious  anxiety  in  her  eyes. 

"Unless  he  was  speaking  the  truth  about  himself." 

"How  do  you  mean." 

"That  stuff  he  gave  me  to  drink,"  she  explained, 
in  the  same  tone  of  forced  amusement.  "Supposing 
.  .  .  it'd  be  an  awful  bore  to  be  immortal." 

Billy  welcomed  the  joke  delightedly;  and  Joyce 
looked  at  her  friend  with  an  ambiguous  expression  of 
entertainment. 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it  would.  .  .  .  Oh,  but 
I  shouldn't  bother  about  that.  When  you've  had 
enough  of  it,  you  just  call  in  Mummy's  doctor,  and 
say  you  feel  ill.     He'll  soon  fix  things  up  for  you." 


THE   END 


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A     000  126  337     5 


